Coup de Grace (2008)

We, being part you, part me,
sprouted from the most peculiar of seeds--
          and we ain't even a tree;
          we be buds of unity.
Simple, quaint, like wheat on a prairie--
          the wind rustles our stalks as we tarry;
          there is no stillness in being carried.
No.
No.
That won't do.

We, being part me, part you,
have never been two,
          have always been one--
          no divisible sum...
No mathematical equation,
          not even the math of Om,
          could fathom our particle acceleration.
There,
that's better.
O! thank heaven for letters!

©2008 RA