grit muddy tree
shards caked into skin
golden days of fall
and the violets

quiet questions seeking
comfort the casual nothing
dirt trails
and the violets

stuff of earth
swept up into hands
flung at heavens
you disappeared

from the bookshelves
to park benches
and the violets
in my window sill

you are dust

you are the dust of earth
cast from my hand
ascended to the stars
dust of galaxies
and cars after Mt. St. Helens

wicker chairs and
neon palm trees
particles in shafts of light