By William Olsen

Nancy and I had been talking with him about whether infinity is, or
is only mathematical delusion? Like, say, between irrational numbers,
where nothing is too small for infinity. And whether mathematics itself
will end in a last, absolute prime number that won’t be divided. All
we could say, though, was this, that the universe has a finite life and,
while the light of the stars knocks about for another 40 billion years,
a finite ghost-life. We put it simply when there is no simple. Finite
like us. It will die like us. Isn’t that weird? His face lit up despite
the Never Again. He cried out in joy, “the universe is an ANIMAL!”

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William Olsen is the author of six books of poetry, including TechnoRage (Triquarterly). His poetry has received fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, NEA, and Breadloaf. He lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan.