Solomon asked, why
split the child?
Cannot there be two
mothers? If a cloud is
also vapor
and fire innumerable
might we stretch mother
over two bodies
like leather to dry?
Pauli set him right.
Matter is lonely
and violent.
Imagine two electrons.
One spins upwards,
the deserving one.
The other eludes.
Solomon went home
to the Shulammite, who was setting up the new television,
while the Pharoah's daughter cleaned in the kitchen,
and Naamah and the thousand others tended to the yard.
He held his crowned head
to hers and pressed. This hurts,
said the woman. His eyes were without
her skull. So it was he felt against
a frozen sea. Suppose
if he had thrown his crown off,
then she or she might
have stepped forward
forward into Solomon
had he had knelt down slightly
to keep their hearts in the same
place, unfeeling. Unfeeling, or falling into
the underworld, her, him, and
the thousand wives in the yard.