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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. �