The good Lord had primer on his hands,
but paint could wait till Monday,
Mrs. God assured him, seeing how tired he was.
He said, “You should talk. You’re still working.”
It’s true. She was wearing her garden gloves
and pants with muddy knees.
“Well, Eden’s almost done for the season.
Bare ruined choirs in the arbor,
where late we walked.”
“Choirs,” he mused. “Is that a new word?”
She smiled. “How do you think
we should spell it?”
From a distance Earth was turning
into a masterpiece. God pondered a second
sun, so there’d never be a dark side.
“No,” she reflected. “One noon is plenty,
and see how rich the blues are as light fades.”
“Perhaps a moon then,
just a little one.” And that
bit of tinkering was all they did
for the rest of the day.