Freewrite: Tessellation, which is a word / I have been fascinated with, lately.

To what end, I don’t
know. The field grows less
and less shallow, and I stop thinking of it
as a tiled plane. Some things
are plainer than this. But not
many. The problem
with the many is that they always know
how best to arrange themselves. The rest
of us don’t matter, usually.
To take a slice of bread is to admit
the bread has other slices,
or will have. No one likes to do that. On some days
I call and I call and my voice
still admits there are others like it. Their sound
would be deafening
if heard together, but such a plane
thankfully
does not yet exist. I’ve missed
it so often on purpose, I’m not sure
if my feet would slip. Tile
is an unpredictable surface. My face
evolves, slowly, into a mosaic
that loses itself carefully, again, always
in a more organized way.