the soaring dust of the mortal realm

not to speak of timely rain falling wondrously upon ethereal mountains,

nor to dwell on footsteps echoing through hollow illusory valleys,

here’s yet another predictable batch of grainy residue,

still the mortal dust of the vast universe—

beyond the eaves, the lone call of a sparrow.

alas, pages of poetry, please become ashes taking flight.

the empty void is a speck of the heart that cherishes deeply.

the universe is a particle of unbroken dust drifting in the air.