It is always the insignificant things
which soak then simmer until
they’re as much a part of our brains
and hearts as the skin
which embraces them.
For instance: the drip of a faucet,
the sound of furniture moved
on the floor above us,
the clear glimpse of the observatory on top of Los Angeles’
good mountain–good because of its
extraordinarily cool posture.
Insignificant as a single pine needle
in a public basin, the road
to the observatory winds into
the stars and the space it watches.
Coyotes say “it’s a trail.”
Tourists say “it’s a road,”
and we who take it on a journey
to glimpse a planet other than our own
tell each other that it is
insignificant how we get there.
The notion of what is significant and what is not is wonderful, and always intrigues me. I often paly with tis too, particularly with insects and the sound of the earth moving, things we are blind to.
Thank you