Infinites
it is, between Pascal’s infinites of large
and small, with Teilhard’s third, complexity
the Present impossibly precise hangs
on these three hooks of seeming, undisturbed;
the staying we know isn’t. The sly weight
of mock endurance settles in a mind
not ours but us unrecognized, a phantom
limb we walk with, extra hand that speaks
and touches what we won’t see. An ocean
large, small, complex, patient, takes us in
not as we are but as itself unsought
we give up seeking harmony and bliss
and take up being countless, as just this.
The Dog Star 
2 Responses to “Infinites”
“The sly weight
of mock endurance settles in a mind….we give up seeking harmony and bliss and take up being countless”
Love it.
Thanks, Craig. I’ve always like sonnets. And Taoism.