Sometimes a poem contains just a sample of mathematics -- but a very memorable one. Such is the case with "I Like the Wind" by Robert Wrigley in the 6 September 2010 issue of The New Yorker. I offer below its opening lines.
We are at or near that approximate line
where a stiff breeze becomes
or lapses from a considerable wind,
and I like it here, the chimney smokes
right-angled from west to east but still
for brief intact stretches
the plush animal tails of their fires.
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