Bouquet

The dogwood flowers here
remind me
of the dogwood flowers there:
home.
I'm not there (yet) they are here.
The memory separates me into many
and instead of multiplying I am divided,
the product of being + me.

I only see 1 + 1.
Yet the flowers realize t/(here) is (t/here).
But why say it as them instead of we?
Because the trunk of a tree divides
or does it multiply?
The good earth flowers people
I separate from my mother and I become
me just being, apart from.

I find that being, that me, is no longer mine,
when 1 x 1 exists and I only saw the product of two.
When the two intertwine, combine
and create ours.
I should live in both.
I only live in both
because that's the only thing,
Yet I feel I've got no thing,
And so does everything else.