You say I see the world as monochrome –
No texture and without tonality.
The truth for you grows wild: reality
Springs forth, connected, plural, as rhizome.
Perhaps it’s true; I’d rather be at home
Within the comfort of fixed certainty,
For here amidst truth’s many pleats I see
The wholeness seen across each moving zone.
Life’s essence, irreducibly complex,
Must stretch and test the bounds of our abode.
To each their own; we all have our penchants
And you, it’s true, leave space for life to flex.
But threefold truth converges at one road
And that, for me, has made the différence.