What is the source of significance? Is it entirely human? Can a simple, random event become elevated beyond its essence? How? Why? Sometimes, we just overthink. Here’s a little exploration by Hugh Anderson.
A tarnished scrap, a paper corner torn away
tangles a moment in bare branches
and flits across traffic
across windshields and nascent rain
Then on the hard edge of the wind, ascends
Is there somewhere despair pursuing
a parchment corner with the sigil
of a wizard king, ripped from hands
new minted to diplomacy and sure now
of doom so many ways?
Or fugitive from the patent office,
an intricate design for revolution:
a dumbwaiter to carry prayer to god?
This small scrap the key, the circuit
without which all is fantasy
A scrap of prayer, a mustard seed
words that could shore up
a crumbling nation and its divided souls.
Whatever. Few eyes follow
as it mounts the wind to drown in cloud