Softly, he calls, his voice like a razor
And we settle into a bed of equations
nothing is unsolvable, that he reassures
But I've never been one for math.

The bed is lit by candles
carved by his best of friends
they weave through reality
in the shape of the tree of life

If you add any two wholes,
you can only create another
But we are not wholes, we are complex
Irrational, illogical, and half-way imaginary