Astronomers say

     the universe 

          is expanding,

     albeit imperceptibly,

but it’s hard not to feel

     the slow creep

          of tract housing,

     luxury apartments

and townhomes,

     of gas stations,

          megachurches

     and office parks

and say it is shrinking.

 

But I say here

     on this small expanse of prairie,

          on this trail that winds

     from riparian bottomlands

damp and flowing from spring rains,

     through rocky midlands

          ablaze with buffalo bean,

     wild celery, redbud, and verbena,

to the windswept plateau

     still stirring from winter slumber,

          that the universe is not simply expanding,

     it is as infinite

as I am infinitesimal.

     In a world enthralled with greatness,

          it is no small thing

     to want to be small

and mean it.

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Nominated for the Pushcart Prize