Copyright is held by the author.
An angry god commanded,
sent in his angels with swords.
There was little time.
Still, Eve begged for one last walk through the garden.
With eyes made clear by loss impending
she saw once more the pond where
feathery ferns arched over smooth black water,
she saw deep scarlet poppies bending,
and speckled foxgloves swaying,
and pale pink peonies shedding blowsy petals in the gentle breeze.
There was no use taking pictures.
No photo could preserve the scent of peace in Eden’s air,
nor how it felt on bare skin, soft as rose petals.
Nor could any image capture
the leaf-silted dance of light and shadow among the trees.
She should have loved this place more on
every, every day of her time here.
It was too late now.
The angels were checking their Rolexes.
Adam rattled the car keys in his new suit pocket.
It was time to leave.