My breakfast looks like a tree.

I eat it that way without knowing,
influenced by a child’s appreciation of symmetry:
one bite here, one bite there,
leave a stem to hold the thing,
for stability.

In my dream
the girl child unfolds a creation of both science and art
that comes from exploration
and the space set up to do that.
The space and she are open and bright.

She looks at me as I am watching and wondering at the unfolding
of a complex creation made of layers of paper:
both black and white,
six-sided cells attached by one or more sides
in the form of petals and flowers,
a honeycomb relationship unfurling down and across and down,
both delicate and certain,
seemingly no accident,
but predictable, no.

Kids these days!

I am an arm’s length admirer of origami,
its enfolding of science and art,
but mostly its magical quality
of two dimensions becoming three,
and by wonder suggesting more.

The girl’s cells of black and white combine
to make a delicate, certain network
recognizably organic, yet of discrete parts.
Black, white, yes, no, one, zero, all, nothing, empty, full.
A story and a rest,
sleep and waking.
Alone and together.

But mostly I have wordless wonder
at the occurrence of such a thing
in such a place,
unannounced,
splendid,
and the girl expects no accolades,
but holds the molecule model flower by one petal
and watches it unfold.