image from vecteezy.com
poem submitted to "Pick-A-Title" poetry contest, Edward Ibeh, sponsor, 7/14/2026
Dust rises when the light moves~ a faint shimmer lifting from the floorboards, the world exhaling its smallest, oldest truth. It gathers on windowsills, on the lip of a forgotten jar, on the spine of a book whose story no one touches anymore. It is patient. It knows the direction of all things. The wind lifts it, a quiet rehearsal of our undoing~ how even the strongest bone will one day loosen into particles, how names will thin until they are only breath and then not even that. Dust remembers what we forget: that form is temporary, that the body is a brief arrangement of borrowed minerals, that every heartbeat is a negotiation with impermanence. Still we rise each morning, carrying our small certainties, while the day leans close and murmurs its gentle reminder~ return, return, return.
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