Comes the dawn (creation quintain)
Suddenly comes the dawn of time ticking its unprecedented tempo. Bright skeins of light first thrown Before the deeper-dyed dark of nocturnal veil: morning and evening, the first day.
From His brush comes the waters, Canvas-white clouds cast against a cerulean sky As sapphire seas settle beneath; Pigments purposefully placed to adorn the new planets: morning and evening, the second day.
From the clay comes the land; The Artist carves stone and sets sand, Lifts peaks to their seats in the skies, Craggy citadels crowned viridian with sylvan shades: morning and evening, the third day.
In blazing brilliance comes the dawning of the sun, Flame-forged copper flashing forth the piercing purity of its Kindler, Sinking softly into royal purple, At last coronation claiming its silver circlet among the gleaming host: morning and evening, the fourth day.
From the Poet’s proclamation comes life, His thoughts finding form and fruition in flocks taking flight, Swarming speech given shape and substance, As fauna not yet known await their first names: morning and evening, the fifth day.
Above this creative crescendo comes…us. The first organ of imago dei ringing with deity’s living breath, As the lifting leitmotif of His love to first life Foreshadows love’s ultimate cruciform culmination: morning and evening, the sixth day.
The Weaver, resting, inspects His finished work; it is good. Morning and evening, the seventh day.