The Smallest Tragedy

A flicker of doubt
as fleeting
as that first
heart-flutter of love
passes through you,
too swift
to catch in your throat.

No hair-line crack has appeared
on the gleaming
surface of your life,
just a speck of dust
you can blow away
with your warm breath.

So you are surprised
when it settles again,
one small speck,
a minor irritation.
No dust-storm to cloud
your perfect view
of sunlit mountain,
whispering gum.
No pea to disturb
your soft bed of contentment.

A flicker of doubt
passes through you
like air
through crumbling mortar
to become
the smallest tragedy.