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TOWARD THE INFINITE You might take it for a given: how numbers climb first quickly, then more slowly toward the infinite, the way an aging man climbs stairs first with a hand to the banister, then pausing between landings, then not at all. Or the desert fathers hunting their God from the beehived caves— how hunger brought him closer, lessened the distance between eye and star, as light became only an absence of the long familiar dark. You near it in circles, the way a dog circles his sleep before lying down: the ascetics die with their gnosis concealed among them, sifted, particular sand. The man moves to a ground-floor flat and brews his tea, the numbers continue in lengthy approach. And your eye for a moment settles on the breast of a strange girl; you know her then entirely before she passes out of view. 65 ...

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