If Not by Dust by Mattie Reaves

If not by dust, then river.
To ponder, if He was parched
& alone. Fantasizing about the
freckled cross of air; waving like
a feather on the shore.

Everything is ever sudden.
Flowers are born because the sky
is blue and the sun dies still for
it’s beloved.

All this talk about fallen trees &
whether life has heard it.

The only thing that is certain,

remains.