To Dust

 

Summer breeze rippling patterns
in the mind, soft with scent
of roses twining over old fence posts,
fallen sentinels, still grand with moss-
covered memories. The pointed barbs
of yesterday’s sharp wire
long past doing harm.
What once was boundary, mingles
now with purple vetch and milkweed.
The wire, curled and coiled, a remnant
of its used to be, a decaying swirl
of rust. As all things in the universe,
from dust to dust.

 

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