Imaginary Numbers Poem by Christopher McInnes

You were the real of me, the Only One.
Without you, I was just I -
an imaginary, useless thing.
With you, I was real,
and multiplied by you,
we became not many -
that was not our nature -
but One, the perfect One,
the basis of all else
and in us was an infinity
of smaller parts: the good,
the bad, the sharp, the soft,
the little things of an ordered existence.
And taken as a whole,
we could have been the basis of all else,
the starting point for a journey
danced in infinitely many happy, measured steps,
to the end of time...