Smaller infinities hide in larger ones;
they lurk between whole numbers,
taunt us with infinite half distances
and prospects of non-arrival.
Words have only so many positions,
but poets, pundits, and preachers, et al

are stuck on an infinite, repetitive loop,
missing the best words in the best order.
There is something better left to say;
I am trying to find it, but for now
I offer the standard I love you,
to which some add to infinity and back.

I don’t know what that means,
but I know I want to hold you
the way an infinite universe
holds everything that ever existed,
or the way some grander infinity
might even hold a universe.