Enjoy our final presentation of a poem from Ernest Hilbert's upcoming All of You on the Good Earth. Tomorrow, some music. Monday, the review. Tuesday, the word still whirled in the unstilled world!
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?
Originally appeared in Scythe.