dust

the besmeared merchant sighs

his dilapidated stall shivering

even from the weight of the dust

that covers his trivial wares

useless all but for one piece

one timelessly treasured vase

facelessly reminiscent, recalling

nana’s gentle hands folding the clay

never would he have chosen

but for the direst of needs to place

her final work beneath the sun

shunned by one patron after another

a screaming child races past

a cloud of dust clinging to his heels

which kick at the angry world

with zealous determination

behind the child, lost in his clowd

an elderly woman growls, teeters

blindly rubbing her stinging eyes

as her hip collides with the stall

down it falls, beautiful in despair

down it falls, crashing to the earth

smashing a heart that had nothing

left to hope for beyond simply this

he does not scream, does not yell

does not tear at what remains

of the bedraggled gray mess strung

limply over his sweaty crown

his jowly countenance drips sorrow

into the dust of his finality

his skin cracks across brittle bones

enthroning a once proud man

as a naïve prince of fools