Adam's Stars

we are earth-deep granite, marbled through with fire

He lies awake under dark skies
Bright pinpricks staring at him
Needles in his mind, accusing, judging, glaring
His conscience burns
(He owns a conscience now)
Hard ground
The unaccustomed scratching of garments
And the impossibility, the utter inconceivability of sleep
When the weight of guilt bears down like the heavens
The heavens that stare at him still,
Like the angel whose angry sword blocks the way back to paradise stared

we are earth-deep mud, shot through with gold

He lies awake under dark skies
Bright pinpricks unnoticed (though staring still)
Aches in his back, bruises, sorrows, fears
His heart still yearns
(He still remembers Home)
Rocky soil
The familiar scratch of leather and wool
And the impossibility, the utter inconceivability of rest
When the world itself bears down like the weight of his sin
The sin that bars him still,
Like the angel whose angry sword still blocks the way to paradise

we are earth-deep death, pierced through with hope

He lies awake under dark skies
Bright pinpricks searing him
Fear in his heart, tearing, clawing, screeching
His restless mind turns
(He knows what fate awaits)
Untilled earth
The relentless scratching of aged and tattered robes
And the impossibility, the utter inconceivability of aught but death
When the weight of his life bears down like the dark
The dark that gnaws at him still
Like the angel whose angry sword still blocks the way to paradise

And as he sleeps—as he sleeps—
(Perhaps you do not understand: he SLEEPS;
I'll say it straight, he DIES)
He wonders, flickers hopefully, remembers
The threat of serpent-crushing savior
And closes his eyes