Miracles, Inside Out

I lit a match in the hospital nursery
to see if my tiny one's eyes would follow the flame.
No more than seven hours old,
he seemed more interested in the nurses
who came rushing in to bounce me out.
Later, he noticed water in a wheelbarrow
and said, "Must've rained."
Four, and making logical inferences, my boy.
Now that we are all a little older, I wonder
if I was the one inferring beauty all those times,
if the blooming flowers were not meant toi make me weep.
Nevermind. I wept anyway.
Does it matter if the art has been
in the things i've seen along the way
or only in my chest, flickering like a lit match?