picnic

- you know, he said,
lying back with his head in her lap
and no hope in her loins –
every picnic we have
seems to happen in sunlight,
each fair conversation
is wreathed in bright smiles
and stars are just lights
sprinkled to soften the
darkness of night

then he yawned,
un-tired by life,
unbothered with blessings
and things still unknown,
and closed his eyes in the present

eve rose
and innocence blew through the garden,
rustling the timeless shades of green

she reached up,
one finger caressing the apple,
the singing fruit of colourful dreams,
then gazed into curious eyes...

- he is right, said the snake,
as her hand closed with ease
on the glittering promise of change –
be just like your father: draw breath
and invent

for a moment she paused
and shivered for adam –
but he merely stirred
and then, ever so gently,
smiled in his sleep