Our world is made
from rags and feathers
from silver, pearl
and ivory.
Carefully, we model
our treasures
from iron and
mahogany.
We design them
artfully.
We measure and saw,
grind and scutch
but time degrades our
industry
reducing our labours
to not much.
It refashions our endeavours.
They swirl around us,
here and there
a silky residue of
wind-blown particles
soft to the touch,
returned to air
with spent atoms of used
skin and rust
our vanity, a history
of dust.
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