Upon this Dust (a poem)

Photo credit: Ickworth Park, Suffolk, UK, by Karen Roe via Visual Hunt

Upon this Dust

Expect nothing
Not a thing
Not a song
Not a quiet
Three-minute respite
Nor a machine’s buzz
Across the way
Disturbing finches
And chickadees
And humans who
Happen to have a moment
This weekday morning
To sit and sip and think.
Opening and closing
Sense of self
Trees trimmed
Weeks before rain begins
Sunlight soaks skin
Shadow on stone
Colored chalk fades
All soon washed away
Don’t bother with car
Nature will soon fall
Upon this dust.