The Littlest Things by Timothy Kinkade

What is the smallest thing?
Perhaps the carbon molecule that sits
Atop her diamond dimpled ring?
Though I sincerely voice my doubts;
For that cannot be the smallest thing. 

If a universe lay in its infinitesimal bowels, I reckon
A billion or more such rings much tinier lie within
And the inestimable carbon that rests atop, then,
Cannot be the smallest thing.

Reckoning such, I reckon, I must
Imagine a thing much smaller than the motes
Of dust that gather on the notes, now weathered,
That once pined our lazy love. 

My soul, I swear, my life, declared 
I would forfeit should such a shriveled thing come to lie
In my wretched heart of hearts. Oh, withered
Panes of wintry glass whose greedy cold

Stole my breath, and with a finger I 
Replied, “Tis not this life the smallest thing?” 
Or is it the promise of a carbonry ring? 
Promises kept, like the mountain, stand the test of time

Until the smallest things, like myriad raindrops fall 
Long enough to erode languid lime, exposing large for small. 

Author Biography

Timothy Kinkade is an English Major at Pikes Peak Community College. He was inspired to write this piece in his Creative Writing class at the Downtown Campus. This is his first published work.