You know how you can catch sight of dust particles
when the sun's angle is just right? Those suspended
specks of fluff and dander, that evanesce with a milimeter
turn of the head, or a shift in light?
Yesterday morning, while the sun was still
with us and warm, I was outside following my elderly cat
on her trek around the house. I knelt down
to coax her out from under the deck,
and as I tilted my head, the angle of the sun
illuminated swirls of what I believed to be pollen --
tinier than any other particle I've ever observed,
golden and swirling in the rising breeze,
reminiscent of Van Gogh's Starry Night.
A second or two, and with an inhale my position shifted
and I could not find it again, this illuminated river.
Was it everywhere, if I could only see it?
Did it flow around me always? Or was it simply
an imagination, a product of fleeting desire?
Later the wind kicked up in earnest, bringing with it
chilly slanted rain and an end to this tease
of spring. No chance today for a glimpse
into the microcosm, unless I find the mossiest rock
in the forest, and unbed its secrets.