When I say you are my number
one I mean in the line of infinity:
crystals in sand, the observable
universe, atoms in the pretzel of
our hands– we were in the back-
seat. You were in the middle
of a knot, trying to emerge
beyond the physics that
has no name to call us.
(originally published in Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Spring 2023)
It was Maxwell
who asked
if algebra
can be extended.
My theory is
it is possible
if we are infinite
strings of numbers,
if an unknown
number
of remaining days
is what
makes us immortal.
With him
gone,
I recite
as many
digits
of pi
as I can
just to feel
my tongue
flicker again–
does the universe
confuse numbers
with the heart’s
density, or
sparsity?
The night sky’s
violins
sing arias
for minor
constellations
that connect
to never-
ending strings
of
days–
(originally published in Columbia College Literary Review, Spring 2017)