"dust poem"

This place is made of dust
collected in handfuls and gassed across
the meadows and the mountains and the cities

in a beam of light it seems
timeless, falling slower than snow

the people are made of sand
and crumble easily
forgetting to drink water

but they don't mind it
some even like it

gray flakes of everyone
bottled as specimens and labeled
for all to see

when 2012 comes
this is what will be left

and in 3012
when the crocus grows
from the sand
in some new era

when people have gills
or wings
or some other
strange mutation—

sight no longer
born from eyes,
but from the tongue
or in the mind –

they will talk of us
in their new language
and believe the dust
was our glory, our war

our lifelong struggle
and our Ultimate
golden
achievement

by 4012
the world will be covered again