…to trace the mathematics
of a life
the frenzied need
to multiply
one self divide two
into one
decimal place of desire
or two or three
to try to see the sum beyond
the calculation
(that breeze that blows
through inclinations
of a field of grass;
that slant of sea spray
in endless shining days)
piling up shapeless
columns of figures
that never seem
to add up
to a complete moment
of time
like the endless square
root of 2
which is known
to be
a prime number…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem