What Strange Mystery

I think I know without my heart
That one and one make but two
And two always two shall be.
Yet that strange and awkward mystery
Where one and one make still one
And two is three and four
And more and more and still one.
Prior to this deep math’s making
Are strange breaths tugging strange ways
To make one and one foresee just one
And think – perhaps – what is shall be more.
The future then, imagination
Past all reasonable restraint
To full-bodied impossibility
And richness within and without.
So I and we and you and they
Await anew fresh air and day
That brings to be what could not be
Lest two and one arise
To draw the one and two and three.

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