There is a place
it falls upon the earth at night;
its tireless ways,
collects it into thirsty pebbles;
and time becomes lost in any eyes that will hold it.
The slightest word dissolves it.
Some say there is nothing out here worth believing in,
nothing to hold onto.
I say, maybe.
Maybe the entire rhythm of the universe
is locked away inside each droplet,
and if I stand here long enough, noticing,
at least one tiny particle will break open
wide enough for me to catch it,
all wet and shining from the morning,
full, and glittering with promise.
Poem and image by Sarah Rehfeldt. Please do not copy without my permission.
Poem appears in Presence Journal, Vol. 17, No. 3, September 2011: http://sdiworld.org/publications
and is reprinted in The Voices Project, March 2016.