inspired by art class

in the beginning was the flesh.

there was the flesh and the eye and the garden and the tree

and the sights for eve to take in as she sat in the glory;

and then there was the word.

and the word eclipsed the sight,

and the ear eclipsed the eye, and in

the weaving of the narrative the colors disappeared.

in the rhythm of the weaving,

in the sound of the story,

in the spill of the words,

eve stopped looking

at the miracle of the colors,

at the shading of the joy,

and the dizzying, dulling liquid of language won out.