Infinite Arrival
INFINITE ARRIVAL Sex says it well, as does the smell of dinner rolls, two sensual attempts to hint at what's beyond the sense. What you’re famished for is dwelling in the thin space between becoming and arrival, a kind of (yes, also beyond the realm of reason) never-there and always- are, like ceaselessly falling into an abyss in which you’re already caught, or a slow-climb up an end- less hill while standing still—in other words, a poem, the one you'll never plumb the bottom of, but it's always, some- how, felt like home.