Small

by Brian Gibbons

She finds worlds in the simple things In water, wind, and pebbles thrown haphazard into the flow; in ancient leaves left over from winter; in dandelion heads taken in her insistent grip; in the labyrinths of pine cones she doesn't pause to traverse Arms ever full and stumbling short legs reaching for other lands out among the grass. I just follow, amazed at how much comfort I find in her tiny fingers wrapped around mine, in the small steps I take to keep up with hers. She points and says, "light." I point and she says, "bird," "tree," "moon," "star." Learning, beginning to understand the universe was meant to be small.