Dust to be Dusted

We are all Dust waiting for the touch of the Featherduster.
For life sweeps the lucky ones gently into Dustpan purgatory,
While the unlucky are sucked through the hell of the Dustbuster.
Life finally places us with all the other Dust in the Dustbin.

Some finer Dust escapes into the Sacred Gardens,
To paradise where weary allergic angels tread
Under Dusty Halos, tethered and tame as camels.
Most sneeze once with a Bless You, Brother,
Some curse in silence, smiling holy smiles of eternal penitence.

The Master Gardener uses all the Dust in this Desert,
Watering each soulful dune with her tears -
She prays for another flower worth saving from the mud.

Jealous Angels of Gold

A halo cuffs her wrists.
A halo belts her waist.
A halo shackles ankles.
A halo squeezes her neck.
A halo grips each finger, every toe.
A halo floats above her head.
A halo robs her tongue of her speech, her mouth of her smile.
A halo rings her nose, her navel, and her ears.

Gold speaks on in ringing tones.
Gold commands in bright voices.
Gold shouts in joyous temper.
Gold melts in heated movements.

An angel breaks her halo for good.
An angel smiles.
An angel spreads her bare arms out.
An angel falls in love with light again.
An angel rises on two golden trumpets.

You speak my words.
I command your body.
You shout and dance in flames.
I melt in your name.

We watch the risen sun pause on his throne.
You turn from me, our skin lit up with dawn.
I feel you turning, and turn with you, drawn.
Listen for the applause of distant rain.
As one, we bow down low, our envy gone.