A Square Inch

...and infinitude in it.

Tonight I know I’ve found

the right moment in space and time,

the right silence,

bustling with life.

I start with this inch

of earth before me

and I never finish.

I want to know 

them all by heart.

Above me

this inch holds 

the morning star,

light years away

in the right place in time and space.

Below, a little square of

damp

sand,

dry

grass,

dirt,

a worm.

Only a few days ago, the same sky,

a constellation of petals

on the black asphalt.

I know tonight I’ve found 

the right moment in space and time.

The worm,

the dirt,

the sand,

my fingertip counting the damp grains

travel light years

propelled into space.

For a second

I become a planet

circling around a sun.

For a second, ingravid,

I soar through space

with the others:

Mars, Mercury, the Moon, Venus

and further away.

I rush back home 

before I can get pulled 

out of orbit,

out of the right place in time and space,

and I find myself in that inch 

of earth,

my fingertip still counting grains, 

still collecting dirt.

Tonight I know I’ve found

the right moment.

Space and time come together in this

parking lot

and I walk

from inch to thought,

crossing deserts,

constellations.

    * * *

Someone might drive at night

looking for a place to sleep

and end up in this inch of earth:

Tires, rust, chipped white paint.

Tonight he might knows he’s found

the right moment in space and time.

By dawn he’ll find himself

in that parking lot,

his fingertip still counting grains,

counting coffee grinds,

counting threads on a duvet,

wanting to know them

all by heart.

   * * *

I move on to another inch

of earth before me,

nevermind that I know

I will never finish.