The smallest circle
then the next
circling into a ring
of circles
twirling round
upon round
spiraling themselves
dizzy
giving shape to a fractal
kaleidoscope
tracing an arc
along another turn.
It looks like a snowflake
she says,
a sister circle worked into a marvel
by applying the inverse
of the simplest
shapes, triangle and diamond
chewed open
by a snub-nosed scissors
repeating again,
again
until unfolding upon itself
it reveals
its prism of wings
This is how we live, you realize
eventually,
finally. It was never
the mastery, never
some portion of talent
they had you believing
only the anointed possess.
It was always only the smallest act:
the mark you make
repeating,
repeating,
one tiny circle propagating
one that follows.
Your words, your footfalls,
where you press
your finger
making a divot in the dirt
here then here
dropping one seed
then another
until the day
you turn your hand
over
and there is the forest
rising up around you,
the canopy
and the corridors
this place you have built
the place you have been looking for
all along.
Shannon E. Williams 
So beautifully expressed, Shannon ❤ It's all the tiny things we do, over the years, that bring into existence the inner and outer spaces we now inhabit.
For sure. It can take a while to realize that’s true, but when it does become clear, a lot falls into place
nicely described. good poem
Thank you so much for reading!