Mushrooms, Splinters, and Thorns

Dust Devil and Dust

Dust Devil

The dust has to blow
in frenzy,
one way or another,
going in circles,
swirling,
like everything
nervous
about fading away.


Dust

Don’t choke poetry with dust,
for dust shuffles
through the air,
falling and rising softly
like a con artist
working his way
into your goods.

Form your eyes in slits
and look into a sunlight,
not to see the dust,
but to see your dreams.