Scott Owens
Eve Descending
The tree’s secret was how not
to live invisibly, to be more
than wind, transparence of water,
worm sucking at the center of the rose,
hand holding the sky in place.
Eve descending saw how the willow
wept, the cherry blazed, the apple
kept its heart hidden, heard
the dove’s cry and called it mourning,
felt the hawk’s shadow above her,
the earth sucking at her feet,
the sun burning its mark in her back.
She touched her right hand, the bed
of her stomach, the blood between her legs,
walked with the soft sway of wanting.
What else was there? The invisibility
of everything except God?
Who would want to be an angel
that way, mute, beautiful,
stupidly happy bearing cups?
