Quanta

You, Adam, lifted from the deep,
Breathed into being at God’s mouth
And born into longing love,
You, in the garden,
With power to name the world,
Howl up fish from the sky,
Split the atom.

But Adam, unobserved, was
Inconsolably undisturbed,
And nowhere at all. 
He didn’t materialise until witnessed,
Unreal, except in the meeting
Of the Other.

God was always so busy
Blowing gas dust into Orion,
Suckling fledgling stars, 
Designing the coast of Norway. 

But he already knew about
Probability, when he thought her up.
There was no definite position
Until the collision with Eve
In a field, 
Gravitationally irresistible,
And everything, everywhere, 
Spinning and rolling,
Their own senses coiling,
A spiralling caduceus
Waking the dead in two realms of reciprocity.

Oh yes, Newton’s apple would fall
Along with his mechanics.
Oh yes, the world really is this strange.

The stars scorch and scintillate
In an ecstasy of love. 
And if they stopped believing,
Even for a second,
They would all go out.