The Oblivion Of Adam

Ibn al-Qarih told him
He was the first poet
But he wouldn’t recollect
He wanted to forget all of it
How his hands felt like clay
As he wrapped them round
The heft of the fruit
The meeting of tooth
With skin and flesh
The surge of bittersweetness
The trail of tentative footsteps
He left…the first birth, the first death
And the shame, and the shame
Please, God, the shame…