Dust
By Craig Kirchner
She spread the ashes evenly in the loam,
the mulch, about the flare,
a few feet from the trunk.
They will rise with the morning mist,
speak to the dew and the fog,
settle in with the sun,
sink down to the feeders,
nourish the liquor that spreads
through to the branches, twigs.
The leaves caressed with rain,
will drop them back perennially
as the seasons change to
find hers placed carefully in the
same arc, meld to a healthy sap
that flowers early summer.
The winter stills - spring breaks
vibrant green, the dust, our dust
fulfills life, as only souls can know.
Craig is retired and living in Jacksonville because that’s where his grandchildren are. He loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels and has been nominated three times for Pushcart. He was recently published in Decadent Review, Chiron Review, The Main Street Rag, Hamilton Stone Review, The Wise Owl and dozens of others. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop. These words tend to keep him straight.