It is our dreams of small things,
In the small hours of big world,
Small dreams about a big place.
Like mosquito’s hum at the ear
As the wings take small sounds
Adding up to big focus at night.
Like death adds up to a big hour
In wide vast sky above our roof
And sun makes its small sounds.
Like birth is small thing caught
With star in embroidered cloth
And death crowing on a rooftop.
Like sleep dies in ants crawling,
Small things on a busy big back,
Death dreaming of small things.