Dust to Dust

I whispered,
and the fleeing wind would
rip the whisper from
my mouth until I bleed my heart
into the dust,
for rain that carves a river
in the burning sand,
for life that cries itself
to sleep at night, but rises
with the dawn.

Begin again
they asked of me,
so bury both my lungs
into the dust,
and let the crystal air inside
bring gentle breeze and sunlight
in caresses on this storm-torn land,
anew with every breath I've ever
freely drunk
of brighter skies.

Just a little more.
And I will pour my love
into the dust,
not caring if my body shrivels
when the last of water flees
from where my eyes and fingers
used to be.
Dust to dust
is how I run, but
life must rise again before
the cycle is complete.

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