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.