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- 27 - ∞ 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? ...

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