Two of Autumn

I didn’t touch this rock, I left it where it lay. Split in half like that.
I often wonder what caused it to do that.

Torn in two, this rock sits, waiting. It can’t be one again.
Is each half a reflection of itself?
Or is it a reflection of what was the whole?
Or is it not even a reflection. Maybe it’s two entirely new things now. Two new things born from one indecision.