Of Matters So Light the Wind Can Carry Them

You want to be dust.
It’s a dusty world,
Dusty universe.

Most of what you are
That isn’t dust shakes
Ideas blown like dust,

Settling in your skull
And forming a skin
Of dusty notions

On the connections
Of your synapses.
No, you won’t be dust

When you go, no more
Than you are dust now
Shedding dust yourself.