To The Neighborhood Of Infinity (first letter)

Talk of cities continues. Perspectives proliferate exponentially.  It’s a compounding chatter that’s almost soothing. Contexts and agendas are incessantly remade.  Elaborate ruins are being built all around us.
We can’t measure or date this activity. It’s not soft or hard, permeable or solid, visible or invisible, silent or deafening.  Every instance is lost to our touch and absolute comprehension.
There’s been no plan to begin with. The beginning has been forever. There was no architect, no council, no corpus or schemata. All lexicons are fantasies.
Freedom roams the language slums of our togetherness.
You keep promising a way out without saying anything. I sense it as if it were the sun coming out. It’s like a sudden recognition of the obvious or an acceptance of the poetic.