It bleeds through wicker—
dust in the sunbeams of windows.
It has devoured half the world
and I can only watch
from the patio where it has invaded
and swirls, eating through the furniture.
Beyond the hissing wall,
I catch glimpses of the naked earth—
stripped bare of green and sun.
Now,
everything is brown.
I am a speck.
Leaning against the cedar siding,
I watch as the vortex creeps.
It advances with a hunger
I once felt. Trapped.
Unable to push beyond
my current existence.
And the dust must feel the same.
That will never change.
But I know that it can.
So I remove my halo,
and walk into the storm
as it rips away everything
that I knew, that I was,
that I am.
As it devours me,
I can feel the slightest shift—
the gentle laughter
of a breeze.
JKolasch
Jacob Kolasch 