Theology

This is not the dark intestine.

The serpent split
at the belly
and we spilt
into paradise,
half-jellied, unspined:

God’s unrecognising eye
gone mad from looking,
rolls over a cherry, a tab,
an ingot, a lemon, stuttering
anvils, Korans and slows
for an apple…

We think he has heard us:
“Down here, Lord! On the grass!”
but the fruit of his gaze
is distracted by generic birds.
They form the shape
of an arrow which God mistakes
for an act of maths.