Prologue 

THE 8TH DAY

And on the eighth day, Eve and Adam rested.
Not that they were tired—
they just couldn’t contemplate
what else their lives required.

For she’d washed up all the dishes,
mended every sock;
he’d carved the ancient herd of elk
upon the river rock.

She’d organized the alphabet,
on her break—conceived of zero,
offered all she had to give,
played the unsung hero.

He’d given forth the wheel itself,
at will could conjure fire,
while she isolated elements,
danced barefoot on high wire.

Still in the streets of everywhere
they could not find the cause
of all the inhumanity
and misery they saw.

In the streets of everywhere
they could not breathe a pause:
The tragedy! The madness!
The suffering humans cause!

He had kept the boat afloat
each time the rent came due,
burned the midnight oil,
never missed a cue.

She’d changed the sheets on every crib
each time a change was needed,
gathered multitudes of foods
and kept the soil seeded.

He’d read the writing on the wall
and taken proper measure,
uncorked the prophecies that sealed
their children’s unborn treasures.

She had mixed a palette purple-wise
in winds of every weather,
knitted up a network
that would hold their world together.

Still in the streets of everywhere
they could not find the cause
of all the inhumanity
and misery they saw.

In the streets of everywhere
they could not breathe a pause:
The tragedy! The madness!
The suffering humans cause!