Genesis pulled breath from dust,
as god, in his boredom, did deign to pour
life into the earth, to give a taste
of paradise. But a taste of fruit and the knife
of knowledge split man from God, so stone must turn to sand,
so ash must come of coals.

In fading light Adam tended coals,
pressing a trench with a singed stick into the still-hot dust.
Entrenched himself, pressed in a valley of sand,
watching suspended particles rise and fall and pour
down the long dune face, the knife
of his thoughts reducing memory to taste.

Saddened by grief, and still only a taste
of it's endless supply, he tended the coals,
watching an iron rod grow cherry red, soon to become knife
with which to split the rib of dust
in two, into which he would pour
all his love, would shelter from grief, from the sand.

In morning light, buried in sand,
sodden with the omnipresent taste
of decay, under the waves of light which pour
endless upon the still-burning coals
of the earth, under the dust
of time, Adam held the knife.

Sharp gasp and flood of red, the knife
cleaved the rib, flooding the sand
with red, clotting the dust
with red, the warm iron taste
seeping in, igniting coals
which Adam tended as clouds overhead threatened to pour.

From the blood that did pour
came new life, the red knife
left to gleam in the coals
While Adam sheltered Eve from the sand
and from grief's bitter taste
until dust returned at last to dust.

And still pouring out from that dust,
borne of that bitter taste,
of knife and coal, life has stilled the sands.