I picked up a rock 
from the bed 
of a rivulet
slowly trickling, yet vibrant

It wiggled
It squirmed
in transparent
vulnerability

A larval miracle
clinging to life
pulled from the mother river
exposed to the cold air

This tiny force
is just as alive
as me
and perhaps more so

I placed the stone 
back into the trickle
of the river
hoping it lives

How much compassion 
do we have for the smallest
of the small
the beginnings

How much compassion 
do we have for the vulnerable
for what's just beginning to grow
ideas, people

How much compassion 
do we have
to put the stone back
rather than take it for ourselves