Reaching

In the small corner of the universe,
this corner of the solar system
that I inhabit, rotating around Sol,
sheltered, I am pleased to say, by those
impact-absorbing gas giants and
our own cratered moon and
the ozone layer and our greenhouse
of carbon dioxide, and our magnetic field
and continental drift, and
my own clothing and sunscreen, for that matter —
in this little corner I putter
and potter quite unremarkably
by even my own standards,
when I have any,
watching — mirabile dictu! — when
greater lights flash across the skies.
I know that occasionally my candle
flickers — perhaps gutters is a better
word for what I do — and then I know
with some degree of certainty
that I too can reach for stars
even if they are so far away, and
I am stretching my fingers down towards
a reflection in a puddle.