Dust

Your skin cells are still floating next to mine.

I see them moving in and out of the morning light.

Our scales are so small we forget

at times we are dragons,

Evolved from fish. From water.

We are water.

I cannot vacuum all the dust…

I cannot soap and water all the finger prints.

I cannot not know you.

We were both scales on the crown of a lizard,

Scratched off, we allowed the dirt to swallow us.  

We are made from neighboring molt and lava.

We are made from criss-crossing prisms of light.

We are two windows, open, painting sand

paintings between us with our fingers,

our fingers of wind.

Your voice is enough, just the sound of it.

Tin cans one in Tucson, one in Phoenix

Connected by twine shaking our shake.

The cords of our throats rubbing together.

I’m sending paper airplanes 90 miles into the sun,

Into the pit of haters, heat baked, concrete crusted haters.

No one will eat you, or steal you, unless you let them.

I let you, you let me. It is not stealing, if it’s given.

It is not eating unless it is shared.

How wonderful is it, to discover home

Exists more then once.

More then once.

More then once.

We can love infinite. We can love

As we see fit.

We create the rules.

Hibernating from hope

No damsel in distress, no knight in armor.

Only skin, only scales.  

No villain or venus fly trap.

Only vagabonds, only evocation.

                                                                           

Yes, dragons.

Yes, dancing as dust.

Yes, crooning.

Laying eggs, covering the shells with sand,

watching what we create crack open.

I am not scared of journeys

without hand rails.

I am not scared of you

Or of us.

I cannot vacuum all the dust…

I cannot soap and water all the finger prints.

I cannot not know you,

love you.

Maya Asher