The quiet dust lies, settled in the cushions,
On the armrests, in the corners of rooms-
Dust which takes a bit of us, when it goes.
Dust containing particles of other selves
Of other times, from a past ages ago,
Of people and lives now nobody knows.
Dust has a long memory, but cannot talk
Of who and what, and where it's been;
Dust has a long reach, but cannot walk-
Except it cling, to movements of men.
Oh dust, will you speak of me when I'm gone-
Lean traces of me on the roads I've left,
For quietly I'll lie then- and make no moan-
As quietly, dust will slowly drift..
Patti Masterman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-quiet-dust-lies/
