dust,
its minuscule,
smaller than us, somehow
playing a bigger, part somehow.

it follows us wherever we go
no matter how clean we were
no matter how dirty we are,
no matter how sinful we are
or how innocent we were

dust,
it's like us,
carrying disease, and death with it
carrying illness, and recovery with it

it follows and it doesn't let go
it clings to your clothing and you, and letting go isn't an option
like you, gripping and grabbing in frustration,
hoping and hoping and hoping the life of your loved one
isn't going to disappear on the count of three
two
one.

dust,
like us, it's small
but powerful.
like mosquitoes
like alcohol
like knifes
and weapons,
and like anything else in this world that is small,
but it doesn't have a choice.