The Projection of Vectors to Points in a Plane

The slip of a quill
in the margins of math class
a continuous arc that maps
your name onto mine
as one–a bijection
without realizing the implication
of the inscription
is unity: a theorem
that cannot be proven
in certainty.
Tortured to a carrion call
these whispers
tether us to another
they take distance
and project it to a plane
in which all lines touch
born from the same silent origin
and all angles are coterminal
twisting into the moment of death–
the complexities of n-dimensions
collapsing in congruence
metrics dissolving into meter
and radii into rhythm
the heart’s rhythm
our rhythm
in this plane of correspondence.
There we can linger
there we can be together
in solitude and rapture
there all this distance
means nothing
all that matters
is the symmetry
between you and me.


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