The Brooklyn Rail

Here, the end of the word, of the book, of chance.

Desert!
                 Drop that dice. It is useless.

Here, the end of the game, of resemblance.
                 The infinite, by the interpretation of its letters
                 Denies the end.

Here, the end cannot be denied. It is infinite.

Here is not the place
                 Nor even the trace.

                 Here is sand.