God Poured Voice
God poured voice in me, a woman-shaped bowl, then skimmed a finger along the rim
until I hummed. I was set down, a bowl of breath and space in Eden's green
and though Adam's skin at daybreak glowed like home, I couldn't rest, and restless
sought the apple tree, blossoms unfolding into fruit, the apples kin to stars
speeding from Big Bang. I hungered for surge, a straight shot to the unknown
and bit through, juice bathing my vocal cords, my voice no longer God's alone.