Eve

Four feet from Adam, never closer
but never farther away, in the weak 

winter sun she is a silhouette
shadowed by a row of giant cypress, 

she holds her composure, marbled and black
as the abyss between what we know 

and what we hope to learn, her eyes averted
from the gates of hell, which she guards

in a garden that’s as anachronistic
as a clock in Caesar’s court --

she hides the smile that is forming
to mask the taste of the apple

one foot fully formed and ready to run,
the other bound to the ground for eternity.

I was fortunate enough to be in palo alto the other day and was able to visit the rodin

scupture garden at stanford....