Garment of leaves
Heart like an apple core –
that’s where the seeds are.
People take you for a lunatic
but it’s just the inner thunder
giving you that far away look,
(as Adam must have looked,
gazing back across the garden pale),
impeding nimble strides and coherent speech.
What’s a man’s gait anyway,
but a limping away from his destiny?
Or smooth talk if his seeds are stone?
The crooked path he follows
can only lead back to where he began –
the garden in the chest.
It’s all there in the core – root, leaf, bark, fruit;
soil, water, sky. Time makes us think
the apple in our hand is ripe and ready
to sink our teeth into.
O child of God, shed that garment of leaves.
Venture naked into the new world.