— Tom Rimel
On the third day God said,
“Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place,
And let the dry land appear” Genesis 1: 9-13
The compost heap was Wednesday’s chore,
Smoothed awake one dawn by a gentle lover
Then ages opened closed,
Herds recycling through.
Had I plumbed your curves,
Dammed the sea, joiced up the sky,
I’d grind forever beastly bones
And buff each porcelain grain.
I’d snub my sparkling reflection,
Reject escape to sweeter air.
Cross legged fierce to play,
I’d punch to sculpt an idol of mud,
Earth worming through my fingers,
Daddy’s favorite, all puppy love, all thumbs,
His child fist of primordial clay,
Proud coo and suckling since the sixth day.