Dust.

We sat watching the late afternoon
sun turn the dust into flecks of gold
that drifted above our heads like the ghosts
of thoughts or the debris of our private wars.
I asked why you thought dust
always stayed in the
air instead of falling to the ground;
you said it's because lighter
objects always gravitate
toward heavier objects and since
almost everything is
heavier than dust, it can't
decide which way to go and floats around
being pulled through the
air in every direction.
Don't be the dust, you said.
Know where you want to go.

But us humans are so
heavy, so dense with anxiety
and dark matter. We're
sinking through our mattresses,
through the dirt we've been buried
in, through our lovers
and ourselves.
Dust is so light, it
laughs at us as our
gravity sucks up everything
in the world we don't
want. We have
forgotten how to catch
the light, how
to fall upwards and
let go. Be the
dust, I said.
Be the dust.