The observer and the observed are the same,
yet that sameness cannot be observed,
for observing and not observing
are one motion
folded in opposite directions.
We cling to the dimensionless point
as it splits, as it spills into extension.
like someone gripping the rim of a well,
resisting the pull below,
or climbing a mountain
only to dangle, inverted,
from the same opening at its summit.
For the hole is everlasting,
zero reversed,
seeking its twin:
the only twin that is one
and also none.
The nothing
that remembers their oneness.
The twine—
their descent into number.
There is a torsion in zero,
a hidden swivel of being,
that blooms into infinity.
where everything and nothing
complete each other.
Observation, at its root,
is finding both the hole and the summit
in the same breath:
