Pi,e

Nearly all have seen us. In the final counting it became a numbers game.

Irrational perhaps, diabolic even. Pi,e. Pulsed in time at then empty space.

A long-lived star, an enclosing half-living cloud of dynamic emission absorbing particles. Self willed, repairing, hopping from yin to yang on the spectra.

Though counting requires a wait. Interleaved within the bounded repeating digits is the true unending calculation. Metronomically spaced on into space. There space and time are held relative to the beginning, on and on until the star burns out. So those older, faster, wiser may measure their age.

Against time the count goes on and on, over and over across the untold galaxies seeded and visited so far.

Someday sooner or later the infinite progression may turn into a mathematical regression and expression of calculated being.