Jane Croft Copyrights 2014 All rights Reserved
Let us walk among the quiet places
of this earth, among the woods
and hills, and share the peace
that’s only found in open spaces.
Let us watch the changing light
and shifting forms of cloud
where wind and sunshine put
the shadows of the storm to flight.
Let us sit at dusk and see
the stars prick out across the sky
while blue deepens to dark
and shade is green beneath the trees.
Let us not despise familiar things
because they’re free or commonplace
and we become blind to all
the simplest pleasures living brings.
Dust cleaves unto dust,
a mutual attraction
subject to censure,
swept aside and shaken out
but never entirely dispatched,
merely displaced – for a while.
Cleanliness cannot be godliness
because clay was given form
and divinely inspired.
This dust that lies along the shelf
is fellow to the living.
It never overtly resists
the hand that seeks to banish it,
but it always returns,
unseen, quietly resolved,
as though a vestige of some former will remained,
translated into mute intent.
Its presence is suggestive
of transitions, past and yet to come.
Dust is infinitely patient, uncritical
of all the different roads we choose,
because it knows that all roads lead
towards eventual reunion.