(rewrite of a poem posted a few years back)
My mid-morning kitchen;
the clouds have opened;
a billion motes are dawdling
in a slant sunlight.
Afternoon, on a park bench;
a pool of sunlight before me;
inside, a cosmos of flies
demonstrate Brownian motion.
It's midnight; I stop to watch
moths in a lamp-light,
they are meteorites streaking
from invisibility to invisibility.
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