Adam’s Dream by Alan Dragoo

Naming mine and me

under the Tree,

naming flower and seed,

mare and steed,

naming what has been,

what is, what is meant to be,

naming her Tiamat

Ukhat   Ishshah   Eve

Alone Adam dreamed

in an azure night

of nectar-tongued orchids

in golden moonlight

unfurling their scent from frilled

lips to swirl about his sleep laden lids

Galaxies of moths dipped and swirled

in their downy winged dance,

Seeking the sweet liquid

of that flower laden glade.

Images winged through Adam’s sleep

and he heard God’s words sounding

down deep halls of space,

Echoes resonate in his dreams

of divine words

creating time.

From hollows of his breath words

emerged as he slid

toward silken sheaths

of sleep under green leaves.

Out of white webbed spasms of his sleep,

out from his silken dreams she came,

pushed and molded,

as hands shape pliant clay

or smooth the blush of marble,

or as lovers touch, recreating

their bodies.  She came: blood and breath,

substance of rib

into lineaments of flesh.

She came youth-plumed,

beating her tissue wings –

arabesque of gold and lapis –

exulting her burning cry

into his silver dawn.