The dust

The dust blows across

the breadth of space and time,

moving always from

places to places,

accumulating and then

taking off again in the

direction of the wind

that carries it and lays it down

as tender as a baby born.


And in the wind and among

the dust that ever shifts and stirs,

there is all of humanity held

in fragments of a thousand generations

that once breathed and dreamed

and hoped like you and I,

mingled with all that lived and

did not live in the eons

since this planet formed

from fire itself.


The dust moves and flies

and becomes

a speck in our eyes,

to remind us to see

our moment in eternity.