Dust Motes
Like a toy for the wind
Perhaps I came to the city to enjoin dust afloat
Young and carefree
Naïve and innocent
Saw streets of hell
Avenues of paradise
Checked into a hotel
Room’s lightbulb so dim
Designed to prevent seeing through the darkness
Through a 5th Ave tailor shop window
A doleful old man with pin-balancing-lips
Kneeled before a bride of smiles and tears
Walked in rain past lovers kissing on park bench
Rounded a corner where a sobbing man ran about crazily waving a gun
Saw kids jump roof to roof
All for girl worship
Witnessed a homeless woman
As she and her mangy dog berated God at a church entrance
While on the corner atop an apple box
Bible thumping shouts merged with taxi anger
Such were the early days…
Saw so much
Learned so little
Until I became some of what I’d seen
Adding my residue dust to some reality lived
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While my partner sweeps and vacuums daily, declaring that there is too much dust. And we are experiencing dust that has come on the tradewinds all the way from the Sahara, I don't see it much except collecting outdoors on unattended things.
I miss the dust of my childhood. Old barns filled with hay, old abandoned buildings and other structures where there were abundant holes in their façade to allow the sun to come beaming like lasers through abundant dust motes floating in the air like butterflies or fairies. Helicoptering without power on thermals of their own design.
Sorry, you made me wax poetic. Dust mote's are among my favorite thing.
Ron