Conversion
If pure, a straight line promises
Many things— division, separation,
Over and under, left and right.
But focus on the line itself
Summoning a notion of infinite
Extension, as far as the eye can see
In either direction.
Hop on
It doesn’t matter where
Only at the end do you notice how straight it was
And how little choice you had all along
It was always going to be point A to point B
Which, frankly, is an irrelevance in the context
Of your own mathematically impossible existence.
Whatever the case may be, it sure did feel real!
Even though you’ve only stumbled infinitesimally
Closer to the terminus
And negligibly further from where it all began.
It’s as if you never went anywhere at all.
Saul on the road to Damascus
Had the old flash of light
That happens to everyone
Once or twice—
What if the line traces a circle
And wherever you are is both
A beginning and an end?
The rest of course is history
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