I spent hours staring at the limit
as x approached infinity,
tried to grasp between two fingers
something untouchable by a million
a billion
a trillion.
I calculated the area under a curve,
and it wasn't an estimate.
It was exact.
Now when I walk to the store,
I keep a bell in my pocket
to remind me that I'm
(probably) no more than one deviation
off center.
But when I dream,
and the theoretical kisses down my neck,
clings to my skin as I'm taken to bed;
somewhere in the distance
I hear church bells ringing,
though I'm not sure
if they're for a wedding or a funeral.
They ring for someone else,
not a landlocked lover running fingers
down the curves of an integral.
The deceased bride
is probably no more
than one deviation off center, I think.
Although she may be two,
or even three.
But probably not.
