Still Small Points of Light

by Jane Tawel

*

Still Small Points of Light

By Jane Tawel

January 30, 2026

*

We — the still small points of light.

Seething. Searing. Standing strong.

Oh, the kaleidoscope of multi-hued effervescence.

Spinning. Circling.

Spiraling in supervenient streams of consciousness.

*

I stand in a silence of admiration

of the phenomenon of dew-drops shining

on leaves on trees.

And a small ant crawls across 

my cloudy, reflective windowpane,

And I hold it in universal fragility on one fingertip,

to release it — to crawl or not;

dropped on the grey pavement

of life hopeful once again.

*

Where are the prophets

of the sand that fills the seas?

Where are the angels that

creep among the weeds and shallow graves?

And if I live or die — 

what sense has there been in all that has been

of me and you and those and them?

*

But here is ever more

and this and that.

And we may not rise

but we may indeed

flow.

*

The fire-flies’ candescence flickers

and skitters through our nights,

dazzling the darkness.

And in their smallness,

minutely a-glow,

they remind us

that all are gifted

with iotas of the Sun.

© Jane Tawel, 2026