Infinite

P1280058

It’s ahead in the unknown, around a corner, behind the door, out the window,
behind us—turn around—it’s still behind,  still ahead,
reflections that return the immediate and indefinite,
a reversal, traversal,  rehearsal for what may be
when each mirror finds itself in all others,
a framing, carousel-looking-glass glimpse
as we circle an infinite passage,
a celebratory shattering of limits—
coalescing as glittering sand-stars,
rotating, revolving—
an all-times-spiraling constellation.

 
 
Infinite.  

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