Imagine You Are Dust

Imagine you are dust.

You melt with a raindrop.

You run downhill, down the wind shield, down drains.

As sediment is compressed to clay, so might you be.

Maybe made into a vessel, just a jar.

A while you might hold that shape. 

A while you might hold something inside.

You might pour and you might fill.

You will crumble.

May you pour anyway.

Imagine you are grass.

You are green and brown.

You wait for water, shallow rooted, one among many.

Grasses cover the face of the earth, a multitude.

They feed many flocks

and they burn fast and bright.

A while you might seed and scatter.

A while you might show the direction of the wind,

In unison with your neighbors.

You will wither.

May you seed anyway.

Imagine you are flowers.

Your life is short.

It is never your own, it belongs to the stem, the leaf, the fruit.

Your purpose being to attract,

You might be painted or fragrant.

Your petals rot and feed soil.

A while you might glow and lilt.

A while you might draw others closer.

Maybe a reminder of providence.

You will decay.

May you flourish anyway.