1.
Dust unto dust
has always
left me wondering
who might be
suspended
in the shaft
of light
angling
through
my window.
Moses, Caesar,
my old friend, Marie;
A galaxy
of souls looking
for the head of a pin?
I pass my hand
through the gathering
and barely disturb
the dance
though some motes
cling and join
my day-to-day.
2.
When I was a boy
I hated getting
my hands dirty,
I'd wash them
in the middle
of whatever
I was doing.
I still can't stand
dirty hands.
I could never be
a mechanic.
I won't garden,
dirt under my nails
drives me crazy
and my hands
dry to parchment.
Into dust,
you say?
How will I ever
stand myself?
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
