nagoonberry

Isnt it peculiar that when light meets glass it bends
and sometimes separates
as if to suggest that there is no integrity to the self?

(Your hand, upon waking. fills in morning light
grasping the white newness of the day.)

Even light diverged carries with it residues of
former selves.

(Waking to the sterile light of a cloudless day, you
seek to separate the eyes from the mind, to detach retina from brain.)

As light briefly intertwines with the past
it both retains and takes away
some memory of that inescapable place.

(Your hand, having gotten a hold on the day, rips
away the sheet-like film, cast like plaster, intended to keep dawn from day.)

Light separates and recombines for the final time. With
both the photons of self and with the entangled photons
of the not-self
culminating in a wave
4 times its energy
of length.

(You no longer see your hand as part of yourself and shut your eyes
against the day.)

Perhaps we are all as fragmented as light is:
leading wholly separate
yet infinitely entangled lives.