Laughing in the Right Places

You ask what could have been the language
spoken, danced to, in the Garden of Eden?

I have forgotten.
No, not that I don’t remember one existed
there in the emerald light by the waters
of the four rivers, when sheltered by trees
we sat on grass, propped by flowers
     I usually leaning on a blue iris,
he, on a yellow chrysanthemum, as we told
our bright jazzy tales to everybody passing by.

This I remember.
But lost are the words that made
the giraffes pause on their elegant stroll
to the lake, inclining their head, listening
to us attentively
     the words that made the lions laugh joyfully
in the right places with blossoms bursting out
in royal-purples and golden-reds

at what I take was the magical power
of that language, showing they felt
the joy in the words, recounting
the wondrous story
how we came to inherit the bounty
of God’s universe.