The Contours of Nature

poem by Alex Winstanley

Adam named
the contours of nature
to chisel a line
between night and day,
snake and lion.

He walked naked in the midday sun,
letting language linger
in the sway of the light
like a dryad
clothed in the translucent tears
of the willow.

He let the intellect,
congealed around nouns,
fling itself out
under the night sky—

endless, nameless stars
falling upward
like pebbles
in a weightless sea.

His skeleton was the Tree of Life,
imagination his Creation.

“Forget about your symbols.
Get close to the earth,”
the angels whispered.
“Taste her salt.
Walk among the sculpted towers
of the waves.”

Rivers of light
ran down the back of his head.