3/22/17

Dust.

Everything on this desk is dusty;
everything propped on the windowsill near by,
the lampshade hovering to my right,
the photos on string against the wall,
are dusty.

How does life disintegrate before my very eyes
and then collect into a substance so unsubstantial
yet pervasive!

Looking at dust makes me tired.

I will sleep
and make more dust,
maybe enough to persuade me
to dust.

About Ameliasb

daughter, sister, wife, mom, early childhood specialist, creator of poems, photos and sweaters View all posts by Ameliasb

6 responses to “3/22/17

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