alone is not the same as oneness:

alone means death lurks through shadows
in an empty house while spiderwebs create paintings
on the wall; a creak is a heart-felt speech which moves
the mushrooms in the garden to take action;
the drip of the kitchen sink rings out over the hardwood floors
and to your leather chair where you are alone
with your books, your pens, your journals and the unopened letters
upon letters from your estranged son—your husband took him
years ago because his mother spent all her time
polishing clock faces and conjugating her feelings
to lay them out on the table, analyze them and somehow
turn them into a cup of black coffee and green ink

oneness is dig dig digging up the solutions
to philosophical equations, turning them into tulip bulbs
and planting them onebyone in other's delusions;
candles rimmed around a bathtub light up in the moon
shining through the skylight; where car rides and water parks
make you think that maybe you should have brought a sweater;
a little wooden shack just off of the highway where one
carves another's initials into the rain-worn wood
with an office key and where a mouth lurks over and eyes look through
the gaps in the wood so that no one knows intimacy exists
off this beaten path; oneness is twoness while alone
is all one.

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