I think dust
is the debris
of dreams that 
we exhale in
our sleep knowing 
that things such
as these need
to land somewhere

And like ice
I guess cubed
crushed or crawling 
it dissolves mixes
in with whatever 
it chilled cheapened 
or changed it
goes gets or
gives turning into 
the very same 

The hole that’s left
isn’t actually what hurts
that part is numb
it is the standing 
on the lip of
the crater and looking
at what once was
and where’d it go 
that does nobody ever 
sees a comet coming 
all that anyone sees
is the debris field
left once it’s gone 

The sun streams low 
between night and light 
heavy clouds like mud
dampen fire of day
and a band aid
of orange chewing gum 
or salt water taffy 
stretches north to south 
Denver’s a candy counter 

I understand now that 
life is a circle 
not a carnival ride
there are no tickets 
to hold and punch
starting somewhere ending another 
round round we go 
stopping to take on
new to let off
old merrily we go 
and then at last 
we end where started 
all alone with ourselves 
but wiser and stronger 
and happier and loved
for having the courage 
to walk this promenade