The air is not nothing.
It has a weight
In a narrow shaft of lamp light
the eye of the dust
holds against air.
Each brightness looks white,
but gel-like translucent creatures
ride the light.
Skin flakes, mites, cat dander,
soil, particulate matter
rock sludge, Saharan sand.
Tiny pale birds
as they scatter to the ground,
flock, vie for the centre, lift.
MAY 2019 Heidi Williamson MONK
1 thought on “Dust, at intervals”
Love the airiness and delicacy of this poem.