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!