The Dust

Clouds of Saharan red dust,
sediment of Cretaceous seas,
now swarming over the Atlantic
and settling on Mexico…

Where a young man at a fútbol match in Monterrey
rubs his irritated eyes
and lifts his cellphone assembled in China
to post a picture on Instagram…

Which is seen by a girl standing on a beach in Iceland,
its current warmed by the Gulf Stream
from half a planet away.
She turns to wave at her father,
who smiles and lifts his thermos
filled with ancient glacial water.

Clouds of Saharan red dust…
and the air we breathe could be remnants from Caesar’s last gasp
or the final exhalation of Jesus.
And the constellations that grace deep space
are the same seen by Cleopatra,
and slaves in Confederate fields,
and our ancestors from Olduvai Gorge
when they lifted their faces to the heavens.

Clouds of Saharan red dust…
relentless, sifting, covering everything
like silt in the Marianas Trench
or snow atop Mt. Everest
or vines on a Mayan stela
still undiscovered in a primeval forest.


One thought on “The Dust

  1. Pingback: The More Things Change… – Reflections on the Journey

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