We have lived together,
you and I
these years,
productive, yes
lurching with synchrony,
yet 1+1 does not always
equal two, for there is
mystery and the distance,
the searching for your face.

How I envy those who can add up,
but still we can play with halves
and quarters–parts of us that
have juncture,
even if other bits do not
I in my world apart finding solace
with words,
and you navigating in the silence
of you, restless, fawning,
but yet at home.

This is it: this is the mystery
of extension, space and time
across our worlds which
are many but one,
as equal parts divided,
and yet they seem complete.

 

17/9/2024