Author Information
I Look Into My Small World
I look into my small world
Once full of meaningless things;
Objects and experiences of the mundane kind
That before would exist
Without impression upon me—
And I wonder,
why now
The little blinds by my window shake,
And I am suddenly disturbed—
Or why, when the coffee brews deep and black
In the morning,
I sit for a moment
Smelling,
Playing with something;
I wonder,
why now
The midnight grass
On my bare feet
Shoots me away,
somewhere
Quiet
It is as if
These things carried significance
To stop me in my place
And think;
But how deeper it is than that—
How it goes to the core of all that exists
Behind them and within me;
And it is simple,
Being narrowed to nothing greater
Than this:
Behind every turning of the blinds
I imagine you at my window;
In every note, of the aroma
cast off by the morning coffee—
I am overwhelmed by your hazel hair;
And in the grass—
I am ushered to the place
From where this sensuous craving
Was born
Everything hides a piece of you;
And perhaps, I am tortured at the thought
Of seeing you erode away
into insignificance.
