What disappears in the face of the infinite isn't kind like an equation...
It has the look of an equation
Cipher, haeresis, mask folding the face of its features like a fan
Which it shuts, and tosses on the table like a hand of cards.
{D,J,H,S} X {1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,0,J,K,Q}
No number concludes it is fragile:
The edge of the cup, the foam, the spray --
While their shadows trace congruities of sand
On the horizon's lap.
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