Calculations: A Love Poem The billionth digit of pi is 9, The last month without a full moon, February, 1865— This morning I am making a list Of the last lines of parables About the work of numbers, about Calculations, marking the speed With which blood travels, as if three feet Per second were like the blessings On the late workers in a vineyard Or a son just home from living with swine. Someone continues the division That computes the decimals of pi— He is telling a story, numerals Spilling out toward infinity, The counting a language, a life Beyond this one, as difficult To believe as the number of hours Weve slept together, darkness returning And vanishing, the moments, nightly, Between your breaths, the hesitations In your deep sleep; my own held breath, Listening, and then, temporarily Relieved, turning toward the window, Reciting the autonomic lesson Of your lungs that swell and shrink At last, in rhythm, their vital Capacity, in liters, 3.1. GARY FINCKE
Posted on: Mon, 17 Mar 2014 19:36:06 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015