I wasn't wired for Oneness.
I was created to year for you.
Something soft and musky
draws a moth to milkweed.
Root sap rises oozy
into stamen and pistil.
We ooze too,
listening for the bee,

Night is scented and cool;
it's dew on the jasmine
that makes the air so sweet.
Through the half moon's veil
we gaze at the sun until dawn.
The Uncreated woos us
through thing'd creatures.

Without this gossamer difference
love would exude no tears
and taste like nothing.
You need a little salt.
Be restless in love.
Honor your yearning.

Zero cannot repose
without becoming Two,
seeking its own kiss
in amazed otherness.