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Heisenberg's Uncertainty by Benjamin Weinberg

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  • Today,
    the leaves heaped along the bottom of the fence
    stir and rustle, sharing brittle memories,
    all that’s left of the wind’s promises.
    “Come,” she called, and they
    let slip their hold
    spinning, careless, believing,
    for one, bright, glorious moment,
    that to fall was freedom

    I remember them then
    scraps of sunshine
    the wind wild children
    streaming hair
    flashing eyes
    arms outstretched
    chased them
    caught them
    “see?” they called
    And I nodded but I don’t know if I did.
    For they ran as the leaves fell
    no doubts to dog them
    like trailing, untied laces.
    don’t they all
    flash past too fast.

    Now, hunched against winter’s bitter chill,
    Stung by rain sharp as shards
    I remember and try to see again
    And, for a maybe moment, it seems I might
    catch the kind of glimpse
    you get when you look without looking at
    but by the time, by that time
    the shape you might have been has gone
    gone as though you never were
    though I heard your laughter
    long after I lost you.
    Now, all I see is the leaves against the fence
    drab and dull.

    Perhaps the wind would tell me
    if I knew the question to ask.
    But her secrets lie
    where ever whispers rise
    and all I am left with is
    Heisenberg’s uncertainty:
    When we know we cannot do when we do we cannot know.
    Some days it seems we’re always
    in the space between here and there,
    the endless in between, always only halfway there.
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