Prattle of Days to Come

We prate and prattle,
toddlers bound by a wall, a
gate to keep us in,
to keep us safe from a fall
that the gods knew was coming

from world’s foundation,
when hid in eternity
they planted a tree
and said to touch is to die
with open eye - to feel time.

Even you and I
know that a child’s hand is drawn
where it is forbid.
So we eat the fruit as god
planned. In dawn’s light, time begins.

We cast ourselves down,
drinking birth with a breath. We
dream through the night. We
dance in the bright. We act a
play with a curtain called death.

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