DUST

By Dorothy Anderson

WHAT is dust?

Ashes of love, charred letters, faded heliotrope,

Rose petals fallen from a dead hand,

Spiders, bats, deserted houses, crumbling citadels,

And wheel ruts where vanished armies have passed.

Is that all?

Oh, dust is sun and laughter,

Circuses, parasols, preening pigeons,

Lovers picnicking by the roadside,

And ragamuffins tumbling in the warm lanes.

Dust is rainbow webs caught in sweet, hot smelling hedges,

And it is dust that keeps my eyes from being blinded by the stars!