The motes glow in
the still humid air
alit with sunlight
like planets falling
in a trajectory to the bed
so near the window
with the sun streaming in,
that I sit here and watch
glowing bodies of light--
only dust,
and they seem as radiant as angels.
And I know I am made of
the things made in stars.
And only one star
serves the planet I live on.
But I see even the stars in the least bit
of dust.
I am Dust! Star Dust!
And the stars spun out of the
beginning with a Bang--and I
am dust and banging along.
And maybe I project a little light?
Shouldn't I?
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