A ratchet in my chest, turning tighter, tighter. How can I yet breathe?
A cistern filled drop by drop with cool water reclaimed from dew. Very soon there is no more reason to thirst.
A pile of wealth, grown trinket by trinket. Midas would be agog.
Lord, my day, my life is filled with small acts that add one to the other. Let me not therefore slowly yet inexorably imprison myself.
Let me create pools of cool water and heaps of treasure.