The Words My People Uttered

God borrowed more phrases
Again and again, creating,

But outside, the stolen woods
Offered a spindly, stippled

Erotic paradise, as if
There were any other

Kind in this world where
Thousands of lengths underneath

Vicious antipodean seas
Seven-armed, predatory

Sea stars are eating 
Ghostly yeti crabs

Who harbor gardens
Of bacterial mats

On their hairy chests,
The better to feed themselves with.