Bob, Alice, and Heisenberg

Tower of Hanoi;
Recursion: a Folding Cup,
and what "touch" do these slowed-lights allow?
For we do know which way they roll: the orbits, held in triangle hands of cause.

So do You then know, which way my tongue rolls?
Goldberg-free will: illusion of choice.


Where they are, how fast they go,
such slight of hand. To never know
is room for collaboration: to sneak it in-between the syllables.
To play croquet with hedgehogs and flamingos:
you hit the ball, but it decides which way to roll.


Is that Your gift?
is that what You hide your eyes from?
The room for improvisation:
to dance with a partner:
uncertainty.


We will refrain from words until the context is collected and again grants, like a stage can to an opera,
the understanding of what's really being said.

We wake, we will, with silence to fill.
Embraced by a void,
we stand out in the contrast.
We are detached and thus given
the autonomy of choice.