Dust as catalyst.

So all of you know that I'm more of a non-fiction writer than I ever have been a poet. Actually, I'm admittedly a terrible poet and thus am not entirely sure why I even believe this post will be of any kind of merit. But I'll cease my blubbering and get on with the show. I just cared to be sure there was a proper disclaimer before you read any further.

It has no title, and is barely legible in my moleskine as I wrote it traveling through the mountains from Tejutla. Criticsm is welcome.

There are paths along the highways
that I've never noticed before

Others who have walked the stretch
I ride

Men, women carry worn wood
along the equally etched trail
barely able to stand
with their back's load

I wonder,
if there are churches everywhere
why God seems sometimes to lack Grace

It's hard when you're on the inside
- but then I feel the wind,
or whitness the
brilliance
of the sun's show of color
behind the largest volcano I've ever seen

Those loved are at my side:
those who have been far away for months,

And those who will too soon be far

But put your worry aside
and live your life,

show love
-empathy
-energy.

For there exists a spirit in which
partaking guarantees that which is human

I'm surrounded by dust,
covered actually,
as all my belongings

A coating of brown
mud for my toes
onces the rain washes over my nakedness

Have you ever noticed
how the dust settles on everything
but the flowers?

... or the way shadows play on walls
in morning?

So I'll stay here in my happiness,
and let other things drift away

For now I'll see in me,
faces that,
eventually,
will no longer be clear
as time envelops

and we, as elipses,
move along..