Thinking Small

I turn my eyes from silver birds in flight,
And turn my eyes from golden parting clouds
From sudden sunburst, and emerging light,
And from the ever-worshipful white crowds.
I follow now the coiling river back
And search the snaking road to path and brush
To where in shade a single pearl shines black
And falls into a waiting blacker hush.
I’m there inside that drop of water now –
I fall with it, ride singing all the way,
Not looking up to birth and leafy bough,
Nor to the dark expanse of sodden clay.
I thrive within small confines here and drink
Long from my little bubble as we shrink.