In Finite [Poem]

How much lies between the last known number and infinity?
Surely it is no less than the miles stretched across the skyline
or the palms of sunset pulling apart the world’s sun-warmed brim
so that red-orange sunset-soft colors can dance to hidden hymns.

The distance between myself and that sunset is infinite.
No matter how quickly I run or how close I try to stand,
I always feel helpless as the sun song fades from dimming skies,
trapped in the distance as the horizon-held light flees my eyes.

Sunset hands hold softly my strained gaze til it grows infinite,
drawn beyond the limits of so-quickly-lost daytime hours.
Held in the soft arms of the entire world’s history,
I often miss the sunrise in its infinite brevity.

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

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