So much light spilling through the spider’s web at dawn,
So many filaments strung between grass blades, each holding dew,
So few moments we stop to watch the trembling catch fire.
So much hunger gnawing at the roots of cities,
So many mouths opening like baby birds in concrete nests,
So few hands willing to break their own bread in half.
So much noise the jackhammer’s stutter, the siren’s wail,
So many frequencies crowding the air we mistake for silence,
So few ears tuned to hear the moth land on a leaf.
So much skin pressed against skin in subway cars,
So many shoulders touching without recognition or name,
So few who remember we are all built from the same star-dust.
So much grief pooling in the hollows of our days,
So many ways to carry sorrow cupped palms, clenched fists, open arms,
So few who understand that weeping is another form of prayer.
So much of everything rushing past like a river in flood,
So many chances to notice the kingfisher’s blue streak,
So few who dive beneath the surface to touch the cold stones below.
