Halve

When the day splits its golden crown in two,
We halve the light, we halve the dew—
Each shadow leans upon its mate,
A quiet balance, soft and straight.

An apple falls, its core revealed,
Two halves that taste the orchard’s field;
A loaf of bread, a crusty sigh,
Broken apart beneath the sky.

In laughter shared, in whispered sighs,
We halve our joys, we halve our cries—
Each part a mirror, each part a friend,
Finding wholeness in the blend.

So let us cut, not with harsh blade,
But with the gentleness that love has made;
For in the halve, the whole takes form—
Two pieces dancing, warm and warm.