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.