With Euclidean bent, I trace my walls
Shaped, molded, and crisscrossed by sheetrock halls.
Met by perpendicular, parallel lines,
Right angles are precise to blueprint guidelines—
Though slightly askew from the weight of years.
Sitting back, I ponder, acutely aware:
God is an infinite sphere
whose center is everywhere and
whose circumference is nowhere. *
If the infinite and finite form a joint,
Is God, or am I, at the vanishing point?
*Liber XXIV Philosophorum, The Book of the Twenty-Four Philosophers.