Someone turn off the lights in heaven
so we might find another way to burn.
Let us undress in the mercy of shadow,
in curtains parted by street lamps,
in the curl of your palm over flame.
Come to bed when the world is over
and tell me how we began: a knot
of cells our mothers untangled,
reptilian as the eye of God. Beyond
the roving plains of dust collecting
on the nightstand. Where an engine
turns and wakes and rain writes against
the roof. Come to the garden so that
we might name what grows.