An Apple

Apple of my eye, Eve incarnate
from rib of man's first child,
temptress tempted, fate incurred,
gods and angels crowd around
this Tigris grove, fiery breath,
songs of Seraphim, dimly audible,
in the rushing of the leaves,
the creaking of the tree,
bulging with the weight
of that ominous fruit,
the rushes in the river,
the sun's loud rays,
the words spoken
for the very first time,
and at evening,
that gaze upwards
to that silver pregnant moon,
rising and rising
for the very first time.