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Poems

pi


poem

What if,
walking in circles,
we never thought of the time
saved by
walking the distance across its widest point?

What if,
I had only asked:
“How on earth do we find
the widest point of a circle
whilst we’re still inside it?”

What if,
it didn’t even matter to a flower
how its sacred forms held the cure
for all this, without
feeding infinite numbers into it?