CREATION

No whisper

of woman

accompanied

the desiring loneliness

of my adolescent days.

No rib came out

of my clay.

Then a leaf

of exquisite fragrance fell

and in my breast became

most loving flesh,

vibrant flame,

vein of transfusion

for all time.

Then the seed

of the only-begotten

was sown.

I moisten you with my mouth,

woman,

I knead you to myself.