Small,

for under your feet
you do not see the ants
until you
feel the sting of their bites,

the bee
above your head
will its buzz
be enough
for you to mind its
existence?

a flower has no mouth
a mountain has only its belly
a wind simply whispers
the sea as usual have no feet
the clouds have no hands

when will you ever mind them?

until something happens in Tokyo
you must have uttered the word

sea.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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