Cain, arms strong as pillars
piles a cube house of stones, windowless
and strews his cumin and lentils
where the crescent moon glints
in his cold eye. Cain kisses stone.
Abel, unable to build anything much,
signals his smoke, pleading
to a broad glory box above.
Gets a jasper visitation,
cube bright as blazes, brimming
large, sun dimming
sky full of crystal diffusion.
Cain hates his brother
for his Big Light favour and kills, blood
upon red blood and goes saddled into the world
with sword like a moon, scything,
catching his harvest back
to the blackened cube, multitudes
circling, circling, kissing the stone.