The Equation

What is the equation
to an inkling, a memory
of a love once burning?

Is it nostalgia and the
countenance of a
woodland sprite?

Is it typewriters
and the letters
that are now ash?

Is it the sun but
without
a single drop of rain?

Is it twice the number
of mosquitoes
to the number of deaths?

Is it sadness
without the tears
or madness
without the capability?

Is it all of this,
adding whatever
insult to injury?

Tell me, love.

What is the equation
to a life worth enduring—
or is it indefinite after all?