“Dust”

© Lina Forrester

© Lina Forrester

Dust found a dry can

before the sky wept.

Brown rivers gushed,

settled down, swept

the can to the mill.

Then, a crinkle in the ground

moved aside, let it bust.

A dash of green breathed,

found solace in the rust—

had trust for the dust—

in the can by the mill.

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