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[With a nod to the Bard]


We are the moving dust,
we are the breathing dust,
we are the seeing dust,
we are the living dust.

But how, you ask, and rightly 
so, can dust fall asleep,
dreaming of places unknown,
and lovers unmet-- how can
dust imagine whole worlds 
and love with one heart for
60 winters and 60 summers?

And do the notes that stir life
come also from dust, just a 
little dust and nothing more?
When the music is played 
and dust dances with dust, 
and dust laughs with dust
and soon dust loves dust,
can dust ever understand
the paradox of its own 
being, from dust to dust?

Not until the winds come,
the warm winds of Eternity,
will dust be blown away, 
leaving the unseen soul
alive, to walk and breathe
and dance and love, bathed 
forever in the dustless Light...


[posted 2/27/21]

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