It may seem strange how we used to wait for letters to arrive;
But what's stranger still is how something so small can keep you alive.
-- Arcade Fire
it is the small things a pearl of a thing
tucked into a memory folded over in a
crease of time I see them embedded
in the haze of a star a million light years
away they are weary these travelers
these little things a breath inaudible
a wind on the back of my neck what
tiny things I tighten my fingers around
them my knuckles turn white trying
to cleave to them this ant of a thing
that breaks at a touch melting in the
heat of my palm I open up the flesh
of my hand to divulge a splintering
of my life line such a miniature
of a thing dancing in the white specks
descending in the liquid of a souvenir
store snow globe what a diminishing of
things falling away into a crevasse of
remembrance where I hide when I need to
subsist I make ends meet on these things
I know are you
