Away from the wind's breath
Feet no longer creaking the floor-boards.
No sound
Save occasional scuttling of a mouse.
Silent, solitary
Watching the little line of light
Filtered through cobwebbed windowpane
Onto the floor-dust
And dust in the air
Dancing in the gleam of light.
Still day.
Not night.
My foot shuffled
Stirring up dust and more dust
Settling again silently
Back to the floor.
What air did it once float in, this dust?
What hand
Brushed it away with a duster,
With what voice, humming a dusting song?
What feet of children shook the floor
Before the dust settled
To rise no more?
Where are those hands now, those feet, those faces?
They are no more than dust themselves.
I saw, in a dim corner,
Two long-withered flowers in a dusty vase
And that was all.
Walking back into the sunlight
Lowering my eyes to avoid the glare
I could only stare
At the sweet grass that hid the dust.
I blessed the grass and looked back
Shuddering
At the dark blank wall.