It didn’t work, or only a little bit.
We were too Cartesian in the approach,
and not enough.
We stared at correlates among the meaningless,
until we were ready to accept there was,
in fact, thought, feeling,
a being human,
She was wearing only her words,
and perhaps a bit of salt.
The definitions were wet,
as were the curves, Indeed, because,
where does it all end?
And where does it begin?
Which thoughts are mine?
Which cells with busy tails
belong to her body?
It’s not that clear under the microscope.