Maybe it was just for this that God pulled
water from dry land: to rescue hoodoo
after hoodoo. That’s what they’re called—
a bastardization of voodoo—
these unrepeatable needles of rock,
geology’s answer to flakes of snow .
A sound enough hypothesis: dark magic.
But I like God’s approach—so straightforward:
the light, the land, the sky, each feat of handiwork
a matter of a single uttered word
that’s the first version the clumsy second
was more hand’s on, with dust and ribs required
though it’s a stretch to claim this place was planned.
Maybe, just like us, God was stupefied
He rarely knew how any day would end,