Small Things

Beneath the shade of grass
A haphazard village-town exists
Weaving, woven, time and nature,
Last fall and last winter–

Thatch-roofed hovels along warm and dirty alleyways.
There is a beetle going for his lunch,
A worm-king burrowing in his house.
Bright grass-trees ascend and lean
Towards the earth to catch again
The scent of worms and breaking seeds.

I’m seeing things I thought too small to see–
Nine specks of sand in the valley-scoop
Of a green-growing blade,
Delicate hairs running up its stem
Softer, newer than the hairs
On my baby brother’s back.

Here a violet stands tall and prominent–
Poignantly purple with traces of blue.
When my eyes refocus and these sights sink in
I see it there like a perfect piece of art
Everthing
Else
Goes blurry
In the green underworld
God’s foolishness is wiser than man’s wisdom after all
God’s weakness is stronger than man’s strength
The things that are not will nullify those things that think they are.

(April 2006)