Invention

   -- Chartres

In the portal of creation, God is being entertained.
He faces forward into aeons we will call our past.
So far, He is amused by this device of balance.

Peering over God’s draped shoulder, near His age
about the eyes, a man too new for facial hair looks into
what he’ll call the future. Souvenir postcards claim:
"While watching the birds, God has the idea of Adam."

No sculptor left a story set in stone for Eve. Alchemists
and glaziers opened a masonry to light: three blown roses
in gentle conversation, colorful mouths filled with people.
In the dark swathe under Mary’s throat, just above her Baby,
there, in the leadwork’s niche, every Spring, a nest.