I searched the air
that circles tree branches
in December.
I knew within if I
could take that air
I would breathe forever.

I searched the water
that is swept back
by the swing of a
guppy’s tail, so tiny
that no one noticed.
I wanted to drink it
when it broke the stillness
of a trapped pool.

What I needed was
so small that
I didn’t notice it myself.
That one drop
of condensation that
hung from my window.
That one speck of dust
that rose when I
picked up my pen.