I’ve heard interminable stories
about the inordinate number
of Inuit words for snow.
Yet we have just one word
for what we call boundless,
one symbol for that word,
and only one obscure word
for that symbol: lemniscate.
Is our experience of the infinite
really poorer than our grasp
of crystallized water vapor?
We have forever intuited
that the view this direction
from the other side of infinity
is decidedly deterministic.
The concept, we have concluded,
is not illimitable; it is, like all
equations and their arguments,
simply circular, but twisted.