poème du jour.

 If we, together, could
row to Eden, slip back
tipping
up to Eden
and there trick time
reel
it
in.
We'd back them into
paradise
step by step to
paradise. Undress them
tenderly--
return that
skin to sun's kiss
and
rain's
bliss.
He hands the apple
back to her,
whole
and
plump.
And she accepts, a hand
on his wrist, to
stare transfixed
while
it
rises
from open palm into the
tree, groaning green
hanging
heavy
trembling.
Fruitflesh to branchbone
hand holding hand
undone the endless damage
cell to cell's first home.
If we can row to Eden
let us row in Eden
four hands
on pleasure's oars
this bed our boat
to the farthest shore.