The feel behind your eyes
when you're about to cry
Of sadness, joy, or doubt.
The way a breath seeps in
And settles out
a lung
The way a finger bends
Where every digit ends
The tightening of lips,
The aging of the young
The fact that feet have toes
and arch,
and soles.
The scent of rotting leaves
that rides upon the breeze,
which in winter nips the nose.
A footstep's changing sound
while crossing changing ground--
The height to which grass grows,
a tree with sturdy
Trunk and bows.
The fact that I'm so small
I am nothing at all --
The billions of stars
Minuscule and distant-
Whose shear tiny size
Trump my grand existence --