by Gideon Burton
Do you remember, Adam, how we were?
In paradise. In innocence. How long
did we explore those misty forests, stir
the rivers, naked-limbed, before our wrong
exposed us, clothed us with our cold desire
to separate, to brood in barren shame?
I still remember, just before the fire,
how He would call for us, would name our names
to come and play with us out there -- that's all.
Before that taste, that bite, the leaves, the leaving.
What I remember most was Autumn, not the Fall,
our time before we counted time in grieving.
As drifting saffron leaves in scattered glory
so were we then, before we fell to story.
Photo: flickr - ennor