then pausing to take the first mental picture

of a tilted coastline going dim,

God let her breasts drizzle snow.

She pollinated meadow rue, gave birth

to delta clay, tornadoes, porcupines.

Generations fell through her gate,

organelle by eyelash by antler.

Soon, creation discovered itself in a mirror,

began eating its own legs and tail.

God watched the spectacle unfold—

armies starved in their trenches,

cars slid from suspension bridges;

she sat beside the gurney,

slipped inside the interrogation cell.

Then God began to pray

in her own name, keening, laboring,

knowing she was beholden,

without sword or tribunal,

because once you push yourself out

between your own legs, annihilation

is someone else’s daydream—

her business now to hold the weight of bone,

tangle and psalm of furious matter,

silently circulating, perpetually hers.