Strange how we tend
not to notice the small things:
the breath in a song,
a single flake of glitter
between the floorboards,
an eyelash on a bath towel,
the chink of seashells threaded on twine,
or the cross on any
quotidian bedroom door.
But then again, isn’t it
odd… that we tend to notice
every little thing?
Sand in a shoe,
a sound like the snapping of a flag,
the quiver in a smile, and that
his hands are always
so much stronger than yours?
Wishing a bird’s eye view might
let you see clearer the
glints of gold and red in her
hair… noticing the billion
whole forms of love. But
we’ve only one word for it because
we tend not
to notice the small things.