In the middle God recreated the body and the mind. Now my mind had been fine, just fine, having reached respectable wrinkles. But God’s a crafty brooder so he hatched a plan (which I bet was there all along): Thou shalt be a poet. So God said let there be doubt and there was doubt. And he called the doubt soul. God wagered that doubt would deepen my senses, most likely help me get behind. So he gathered bittersweet and memory and said take, eat. I did and was filled. God sighed: Now thou art ready to name my creation. And there was dusk and there was evening, and it was good.