Entanglement
A stream of photons hits a sheet of glass;
no reason some reflect while most go through.
A certain depth allows them all to pass;
the ones that go before must give a clue.
The photons harmonize, their gift is art.
They love to spread as waves and keep in touch.
Send two entangled photons far apart,
if one is read, the other knows as much.
Yet no communication goes between,
for nothing can exceed the speed of light.
And why do random photons trampoline
from glass, while random others last the flight?
Though Einstein thought that God does not throw dice,
seems Lucifer took contrary advice.
poem by Diane Hine
Added by Poetry Lover
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