Infinite Numbers


God works in infinite numbers;
Man is bound by singletons.

I picture a solitary butterfly,
At most a few, hovering over a meadow.

The migration of the Monarchs
Delivers an uncountable number.
Destiny is never as simple as it seems.

The universe teems with life,
Constantly revising itself;
Any catalogue is merely provisional.

And suitably so, since our lives
Are provisional too—
A foreword, an open door
Leading to another realm.

We are destined for our own revision,
Passing on when this passage ends.


©2016 Michael Fraley




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