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.