(*This is part of a series of poems I wrote about quantum physics concepts.)
It is difficult to imagine I can be loved— I,
Not your kind one, nor your
Is not a word in our dictionary.
Not in our game, not our well-staged
The odds. It is exciting not to know
How you feel, to leave it up to cryptic notes
And the enigma in your glance.
Strange to think you could be feeling infinitely
Of us walk unawares in this world, where
Noncommittal particles decide to tease us instead
With patterns that stripe the wall in defiance,
As simple as a small thing or a
Because if something can be in infinitely many places at
I questioned how I could possibly
Is all I am
Is all you are.
There is no anomaly in our cognition.
But with it, I can observe the particle
There must be a place where I never find out.
But here, I observe how your pulse quickens,
And now we are locked in this narrative, in this
Things have the freedom of isolation.
So if I was somehow a small and simple enough
Thing, I could at once be in love with you and
Not— your heart, like the cat, at once broken and