poem

Vectors

A point is just where it is
Mapped out on the Cartesian plane
Of cross hatched axes,

Singularity amidst a web of coordinates.

A vector is a suggestion,

A direction with thrust

The difference between what is and what must.

Vectors act on points,

Forces in search of targets,

Otherwise they're just passing thoughts,

Musings that wane.

Lightning strikes a tree,

Cracks it in half 

In a bright flash of blue.

I figured I was here

For the long haul

Over three and up two

But I feel an electrical stirring

The pricklings of a gathering charge,

A surge I can no longer ignore.

Someone wants me over there,

Up six and over four.

10/10/20