We will not recall how we came to this garden, my man and me.
Recollection abandoned, forethought cast away,
we walk naked through green fields, warmed by honeyed light
from an omnipresent sun.

This land is firmly set in a place close to heaven, for there are signs.
Just above us, an angel spreads wide crimson wings.
He is gliding through white clouds, holy face serene,
his brow crowned with living flame.

I watch him watch us and learn lessons from his flight. That is my gift -
the perception of omens, the acceptance of dreams.
My mate translates my visions, transforms them into trails
for us to stroll through endless day.

We unname each beast and each bird is washed clean; we free them all.
Our dominion forgotten, uncaged from weak words,
they become breath of the earth, feather of blue sky,
all life shining as though new.

Trees are magical here; they bear gold and fire. We turn our backs,
warned away by the angel. In one lives a snake.
A glib teller of odd stories, he teases from the leaves,
claims our birthright is the fruit.

We do not pay heed to his tale of temptation. We gained so much
when we left behind kingdoms and stripped off our robes.
The trees remain untouched, our open hands stay empty,
though perhaps the fruit is good.