from the calculus great mountains become
we erect monuments to caves
and fill them with cubicles
where we count beads
beneath the ground lens
made from sand poured
into the crucible
as we are poured from life
into this death together
the rings
the echo of the tree around itself
are different than parts of speech?
with what will we divide the sky
to see how it’s made?
our constellations could just be painted on
a fragment of the great stele
infinite shattered in our little minds
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