It pervades everything—
settles in corners, adapts to the contours
of your living space, gathers
in gentle layers.
In a thin beam of light it is
floating debris and
the silhouettes of mites,
dead skin cells and plant pollution,
hair fibers, bacteria.
It is the passing of time, proof
of the days, weeks, years.
In its absence there is clean space,
memory of what’s been there—
eventually the dust will settle,
lines will fade, and the memories
It is what’s left
after everything is gone.