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The god of small things spoke today

Monday morning is a conspiracy
of small things:
 
catching,
or not catching the bus,
 
whether someone uses a tissue,
or not, when they sneeze,
 
and the message from my brother
that my father is feeling better, or not.
 
Life is shaped by fractions
and near-misses,
 
the click in place
of the rail signal,
 
a breeze picking up trash,
spores, insect eggs, and seeds,
 
the slight angle
of the hurricane path,
 
and the tilt
in the axis of the Earth.
 
And all the news, the hysteria,
are a glint of blinding sun
 
in a store window
before I put on my shades.