There is one
It grows
Free, it continues to grow
But tension appears
And welcome as it is,
It must be relieved
So now there are two
No growth
Opposéd, they cease to grow
But war is their task
And painful as it is,
It must form a dance
So now there are three
Formed of syzygy,
A pleasant mirage
Inspired by vague memories of Parmenides and vegetable dreams.