Would That One of Us Stayed Dust

Light in the dust on the floor—
It’s like a passenger flight
Flown in bright winter daylight

Over mostly level tracts,
Say, the midwestern US
Or southern English flatlands,

The peering down at glitter,
Bare windows, iced-up windows,
Which are mica in the dust.

Down there the world is spread out
In elaborate detail
That looks intent on detail,

But it’s the details’ details
That make them hard to square
With the mundane sanity

Of the large picture, the way
This day grows up to leave you—
It’s just a big kid. It keeps

Accumulating itself,
Becoming a little more
Distinctive as its own day,

And if, unlike some, you’ll live
To see the end of the day,
The dust will lie still thicker

Than it did when you began
To notice time was growing.
Days don’t dwindle; days expand.