∞ Poem by Ernest Hilbert

What is the chance that it would fold like this?
In the silted gutter, edged by gravel,
Flanked by cigarette ends, receipts, and leaves,
A rubber band, very easy to miss,
Forming the sign for "infinity, " a full,
Conspicuous circuit. Am I simply naïve?
Perhaps it's not so strange at all. Relieved
Of pressure borrowed from something firm,
It relaxes, splayed like a struck soldier
Or a Möbius strip. Could I believe,
Unstretched from its cargo, this helixed form
Has a cosmos obscured in its curvature?
Is it merely what I see in the moment?
When I walk away, will it keep what it meant?