the wonder of small things

I ask only this

over and over again -

who holds the tiny form

who sets off into a vastness

with no end;

only flaps that keep her close

to her own beating bosom?

who does she look to

to hold her as she journeys

for a morsel to fill hungry beaks

day after blessed day?

does she remember the ground

from where she took off

as she unfurls her wings

to the daunting wind?

does she call upon her flock

to hold her as she falls

to her own death,

or as unnamed guardians

to her chicks just hatched?

do you know what drives her

to set off at the crack of dawn,

singing a happy song?

do you know what calls to her

to soar and slump,

and glide and dart,

even as the sky changes her mood?

if you come to know,

do let me know,

and until then, I'll rest

in the things that hold

and carry wings,

things that cannot be seen,

but only felt in every breath

of these billowing lungs,

in the wonder of small things.