That old saw, 
is that which hides.

This cut-out cup holds infinity, 
so therefore this container is infinitely larger than the infinite
although that which holds the infinite is not necessarily eternal.

It is a hollow cup which holds a deep draught,
the longer the drink the emptier the cup.

To quaff forever is to taste the eternal

Cup and liquid may be infinitely present and yet 
we thirst.

Where our foot falls, the step on ground rolling with the walk

then this step sounds
resonant below, going
into ground, rolling away 
to stop

in silence where the the pivot stalls.

This stillness spills returning silence.

Our walk grounds ashore the beach, 
foot falls from deep and far.

This to and fro of sand.
I am beached in the glisten of glass 
milling its depths.

My shadow blows its coolness across heaps,
the ground remains of my ancestral skeleton,

and the shadow of my shadow is hot.
A great heat melts dust 

to sudden flood.

A shape is formed,
something like a cup
in which the eternal hides.

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