He sits,
The horizon stretches out before him
As the leaves above quietly
Rustle with the wind.
He stares
Into the shade of the branches
Twisting together paradoxical patterns,
Hiding from his naked eye
Dozens of Mercuries, Jupiters, and Saturns
But one faint glimpse is enough to see
The glistening fruit of the apple tree.
Entranced,
He peeks through the tangled mess,
Searching for what is beyond the green,
With the skill of a hunter, no less
Than a tiger stalking its alluring prey.
As the man pondered and lay
Under the leaves, he began to see
A greater dimension,
A higher reality
Than anyone has known under the sun.
He pondered
What the apple truly was.
Was it the same flavor as the one in Eden?
Where man chose self over almighty God
And undermined order; odd and even
Were mixed into something erratic: disbelief in
Him.
That apple shone with glorious splendor,
But its beauty was a lie
That killed humankind,
Sold by a sick, sadistic vendor.
Or,
Could this apple be more like the one that dropped
Onto Newton's head, they say, and brought
Truth and knowledge to a hungry mind
And a starving world.
An understanding between us and the cosmos
Was formed that day
For so we say,
"I hear you, oh music, and know your tune
You sing out from every bloom in June
And every sea on the face of the moon."
The apple shines out this truth at noon.
But then,
Darkness fell over the land,
The sun released its bonds on the earth,
The man had thought too long, without
Coming to a conclusion; his doubt
Had held him captive to the apple.
He could no longer truly see
Into the branches of the tree.
Whether the apple was of Newton or Eden
Has no meaning to an unenlightened heathen.