[179] The Shape of Dust

As I roll out of bed

with words fully formed

I'm writing for someone,

not writing for anyone

As words flow

from the depths

of a lifetime.

Though someone is nearby.

Thoughts, mean one thing

Written, mean everything

Though not for everyone

someone is nearby.

Somehow, the dust

that rolled around my creaky wooden floors,

gathering all the tears and laughter

that paced its planks,

finally takes a shape

never to ravel or unravel

in quite the same way,

yet formed, swept, and thrown

into a different space, a new space

lets clarity creep in and reveal itself,

and reassurance, for just a moment,

a precious moment,

knows your face.