Eden

Nocturne No. 2

Like me, you worshipped stories’ old
Embellishments—fixing your eyes
On founding roots, on framing vines—
Until your young attention failed

That there is any breed of Heaven
We can speculate no more—
Though buried in the rearview mirror
There has to be a speck of Eden

No choice now but to send you back
And tell myself you’ve sent me on
That you might keep a piece of lawn
Where history’s blade springs green from cracks