If I were God, I would not have cursed the earth.

If I were God, I would have dwelt among the

       ponds and peaks I made

           instead of leaving it all behind.

What has the world done; what profanity is

        heard in birdsong or bearbellow?

Are the ravines roaring with blasphemy?

Or have the fig trees chosen to rebel, to wither

         instead of bloom?

And in my foolishness, I forget who it was

         in the beginning, who neglected the world enough

                 to let it be cursed.

I remember the wisdom of the Lord,

          drying up these gasping lungs

                 until they thirst for something more.

I see even the blackest ponds, stilling themselves

           long enough to reflect the domed roof of this first cathedral.

If I were God—O, if I were God!

I would not have loved the world enough!