Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel

shows an adolescent Eve behind God the Father

—evidently conceived of before her creation.

Someone had the last word.

Far-gone son of the Enlightenment?

Or ruler in the Middle East? Does it matter?

That gap, that synapse between God’s grasp

And Adam’s inclination widens.

Angels buckle themselves to the task

As Adam slackens his left leg,

Nearly losing his balance.

Is the lilac fabric held aloft

Paraclete or tempest tossed?

Astonished, inchoate Eve attempts a termagant wail:

“Before this billowing mantle unravels

Down to the very ragged ends of its fibers,

Take another arm, for God’s sake. Here! Here!

Take a wing! For one more iota out of reach,

There’s neither parasang nor Persian;

Neither angstrom nor light.”