“I felt it, too.”

The heart-break of humanity
each time Adam or Eve fell.

The gravity of it.

The absence of what was
once fully good
become less than the good
it was intended to be.

The grave towards which
the decomposing decay.

The Tree of Knowledge
of Good and Evil
is really not quite that
unless a fruit is harvested.

Oh, bitter fruit,
how good you look to eat
yet how sour you turn
the outcome.

We know we are missing
something we were meant
to have from the beginning.

Every time Eve listens to the other
every time Adam hides away
every consequence of pain and labor,
every veiling, from leaves to animal skin,
every expulsion and setting of the Angelic watch

to hide in the past the faces
that will, by time’s succession to the end,
only ever be more distant

to let you know
it is Love upon whom
you turned your back.

Like every loss,
it is the wounder of the wound
wounding her and him and you and them.

We must be bound to some belief.
In this we may choose:
to be bound to the wounding

or to Him who felt it, too;
His corpse pierced through
to open His heart.