I let it lie on floors and tables
It looks so comfortable at rest
Not like sunlight falling on old fields
Anxious for new growth
Weaving into the darker places
The dust on what’s been left behind
Bits of skin fallen on pieces of furniture
Weaving over where light has been
The dust that covers the past
I like to get my fingers
Dirty with sometimes
This beautiful dust of mine
Which only a great wind
Will blow away in time
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