No two sights, no two sounds, no
Two things can be the same thing
Or one thing. I have a knife,
A tongue with an edge, a blade,
And I cut the blurred, here, there,
Now, then. Each piece falls a day.
I pick up the bits I cut
And line them up in a row,
And when each day’s sun is down
Or not yet up, if the moon
Shines bright, I like to watch them
Stir their scales, and then we’re whole.