Saturday, June 21, 2014


Through the window a shaft of light;
The dust dances; music plays
And only I to watch the dust
And only I to hear the music.
What year was this? Long gone;
If the dust next day had chanced
Or willed to join with other things
And so be born a man that man
Would be finding now his first gray hairs
Should I recognize him as he passes
Curling himself against the cold
I would think “I have not forgotten;
You were dust then but you danced
In a slant of light.”

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