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Rest just a minute
Close your cultured eyes
A dustmote ballet
lazily spins across
eyelid stage
Turn your face to the sun,
and with microscopic focus
spotlight the tireless dancers
You
become choreographer,
show anxious prima donnas
how nimbly one may dart,
how all can pirouette
Lost in the
moment,
you become aware of
a Supreme presence
Dustmote performance
opens, closes, then reopens,
in
each blink of the eye,
in each moment of prayer
You reflect upon Heaven,
gaze at lid of sky
slowly closing
on the sun
God watches you float,
like dust,
awaiting microscopic focus
Will you delight when he blinks?
Or do assumptions
of insignificance
place you on periphery?
c) C. Butler 1997
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