God's gray thumb
Was as heavy as a fistful
Of black steel
On the day he pressed it
Into the earth
And created a crater
And filled it with water.

He looked down at His creation
Then looked back up
At the Firmament and saw
A resemblance in the way
They both reflected that kind
Matronly face, bearded, wrinkled
Full of hope.

Then His hands were gray
On the day He blurred
The lines; the trees in
The garden stood solemn
And man and his wife
Looked on them
And got curious.