When humans got it,
Well up we all stood
Like parakeets
Sniffing in the wind.
Like a dog on hind legs
Craving food
We touched that awareness
That we exist
And exited the garden
The curse of the fruit?
To be outside
And looking in
Through mirrors of the mind
We suffer
An alchemist transformation
Counting numbers, not babies
Senses become ideas
Ideas cloak the Eternal
Despite evidence, every fiber
The fruit, it begins its spoil