Little things are most apt to turn my inward eye
Either to distraction, or if I’m listening,
To a flash of something greater…
Or perhaps to just ground me in the common day.
Little things: scattered seed, sparrow and lily,
Copper coins, salt and lamp, fishes, loaves,
Towel and basin, alabaster jar;
These I can touch.
Dreams of soaring, lifting, desirous of the higher hills
Are just moments and glimpses of what’s to come.
For now, the ground beneath me-dust, grass, gravel,
Sometimes flower and fern, mark the path that is mine.
-Pat Dague image