A fruit basket in a still-life
forever
acting, animating by bouncing fresh and withering
amidst two eternal poles
without the resistance
of even an instant,
finding itself by mimicking others,
by dancing its own version of evolution.
We've bridged the split world,
the still world,
between us,
between two opposite painting on the walls,
within the reality of the branches
where those fruit belong.
and the split world,
in us,
has found an everlasting appetite
to palpitate,
in the penumbra of twilight.
