Raftered ceiling and cattle low, sheep grazing on old grass and fresh tracks in snow;
the world was simple, but if God was good,
would he let his children throw
stones over the wall until the river rose?
Desperate plea and murmured cry,
quiet prayer and muffled lie–exiled from Eden,
the children of Adam knocked on doors and uprooted oaks,
traced the roots back to where the rivers met.
Every stream they followed to a valley.
They chased every branch to the sky, begged the birds.
Every window they opened, the wind whispered through,
We have forgotten how to be good.
When they returned, truth chastened, they waited for the rain.
Many months and moons passed
before they found it good.
© 2015 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.