If I, like the poet and a painter mending a fishermen’s net,
am looking one way at filaments of mesh,
or another way at bounded holes, I am
like Schrodinger’s cat, both shadow and substance.
So, let the two of us tango through the October sunlight
toward the brook and the trail, a portal to pine woods
slowly transforming to winter. Within this cat, at this instant,
just as ferns creep over the yellowed path, a particle,
shadow and substance, enchuflas left, and somewhere across
the sliced breadloaf of universes, countless parsecs apart,
perhaps even at the crust of one loaf, this particle’s twin
and its shadow also dances identically left, simultaneous,
in both time and space, both filaments of net and bounded holes.
And if I have one quantum twin, why not ten, or thousands, or trillions?
Each creating me and my homoousious me, content, smiling,
and moonwalking across the bread and star shine of both.
