Hulls


June 19, 2007

Rotating the feel of a sunflower seed between my index finger

and thumb, I linger toward thoughts of the strength of the minuscule.

That's it. There's the reason for this experiment.

To idly stand under the sun, to examine something of the smallest sums.

(Secretly, we all believe to be better as giants, holding and somewhat

protecting our little resident grams)
To say, daily accounts of might predetermines our forthright belief of

superamcy, but mistakes are happenstances for friends lower than

what stands more grand.

How high are we measured by feet, really, than those at which we

can glare above our palms? And, the inside of us all?

The treasures and tools within calibrates our stay; some as weight,

some as food, some as mechanisms, or all as one rule.

That sunflower seed, again, is a human almost, a host inside, not a soul

but a nutrient that abides us to continue our hold on ourselves as we

formulate elongation and limited lengths of our place here.

© 2007 Jarrod C. Lacy