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.