Splashed across the planet,
dashed upon the rocks of the
Atlantic, Old Orchard Beach,
like grains of sand, each one
has its place in the larger
scheme of things, the big picture
that we cannot see through
mere mortals’ eyes.
Left on busses, trains, along
city streets, at the tops of
the tallest buildings, in taxis,
restaurants, subways, from
sea to shining sea and carried
beyond. Spread atop mountain
peaks, blowing eastward, swirling
in the wind, touching down in
pristine lakes, raging rivers,
trickling streams, on a single
blade of grass gently waving
in the Flint Hills of Kansas.
The molecules of my youth
live on forever, even as I pass
the midpoint of this journey
into bliss. They dance and sing
and scramble ‘cross the page
in words and pictures, saved
in the intricate gears and wheels
of time. They stare back at me
sparkling, filled with life, precious
beyond gold and diamonds,
in my children’s eyes.