Dust

Plant the seed in the dust of years,
dust heaped high, flung from every minute’s shambling,
dust from the hands of children,
dust from the splintering Trireme’s charge,
dust collected from beneath the cushions of kings,
dust flung up from the marching redcoats,
dust from the low and high windowsills,
dust floating from a crumbling wall,
dust stolen from the cratered heavens,
dust between the pages of Whitman’s works, unread,
and dust from the few read pages.
Plant the seed in the dust of years,
for all things grow from dust.

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