Ever think about dust? You just never
know, it blows and gathers from place to
place. It can be moved, but never com-
pletly eradicated.
Whisk it away, and still it persists, if not
here then over there, always some-
where. Could be the dust of someone
famous come to visit.
Who can say, could be motes of Socrates,
Twain or Hemmingway? A cloud of dust
carrying Hannibal in the upper atmosphere
may have traversed the Atlantic.
Perhaps a deposited flake of Cleopatra’s
remains came to rest here on the bookshelf
of my living room in Kansas City.
So, then it is that dust is the unidentified
remains of that which should be honored
and revered, not summarily swept away.
No, dust doesn’t bother me. It gathers itself
in its own way each day, silently drifting on
sunbeams and the breeze from one place to
another.
I say, let it be. Could be the displaced
Second Coming of Jesus for Christ’s sake.
Who can say how many miracles may
have taken place?
There are bound to be those who will claim
I have far too much time on my hands.
Could be.
-30-
Chris Hanch 8-8-2020
No comments:
Post a Comment