Mote.

It depends On neighboring things Maybe a towering monolith A planet teeming with life Or a dot unnoticed casting no shadow.

But size is a thief And the smallest things overlooked no more Swirling on sunbeams Have their place in the air Like galaxies held In the palm of the hand.

Almost random yet directed, Riding the slightest wind Glinting in the sun Reminding us To pay attention; Where we look Is what we see.