One Tea

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One tea shared between two cups
Separate pools, distinct
Two cups tilt--contents together
Crashing marbles, silent groans

Still two together
or now a third--discrete from one?
What force set two from one?
Moot questions, you may assert
Recombination erases any artificial identity

However, moving closer
can't you see?
Two side by side
around
passing under
Restless pacing

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A new poem and song I've been performing this past month.  It's a quiet observation from my tea table.  Here's how it goes--I pour the tea from the pot into the sharing pitcher.  From there, the tea goes into two cups.  Now we have two different cups of tea--sure, it's the "same" tea, but not quite--the tea in the first cup isn't exactly the same as the second--to start with, they're in completely different vessels.  So, now the tea substance in each cup has a name--let's call them "A" and "B."  And what if I pour them back, together, into the sharing pitcher?  Does the tea return to being the exact same as before it was poured into cups and became "A" and "B"?  Is the distinction (which surely described something that was different about the two cups) so easily discarded and forgotten about?  Then I start thinking about the "A" molecules and the "B" molecules swimming, intermingling there in that pitcher.  It's happening as an utterly unmeasurable, ever-shifting dance.  The broader implications of this exercise constitute a substantial cornerstone of my worldview.  It's a good day when I can become so lost in amazement at a small wonder...it's nice to have some perspective.  Oh yeah, this is also a love song describing what happens to two personalities together over time.