I'm sure it's the small things that keep us alive.

A good parking spot, a night that coasts by like static.. and the stars.

It's not like that for you and me, not large.

We dig deep and come up slowly for air,
admire the dirt under our fingernails.

We ware caution wears us,
and sometimes it's too much.. but not enough.
Not enough to snuff it and never will be.

Not when the sun shines at such an angle,
and lunch is perfect,
or someone smiles, or traffic seems to give way.. and the road.

Our earthquake dies, unborn,
so we must love the aftershock.