It’s the Little Things
the sparrow’s tender head
the dead possum on the road
the pungent smell of the fresh creek
in the summer when heat rises
to the bridge that spans its width
and if you should come to me
wondering and daring
I would not show you a good time
we would sit and watch
our breaths, silence, death approaching
so slowly, it would feel
like the ecstasy of making love
by Marc Steven Mannheimer
from Poetry Feast
