Genesis

Poem

Jason swaggered through
the Smithsonian—
his right hand
clutching my finger
as if he were
pulling the cord—
whistling
to clear the tracks.

With his free hand
he blessed
a symmetrical stack of bones.

“El-e-phant!” he pronounced
syllabically,
enlivening the petrified—
fleshing out a form
long since iced.

He helped me see
beyond a jungle
of rope and trees
and away from a fortress
of wall and snake
to a parading garden
rising
like a gentle mist
from the earth.

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