To Dust Love Falls

He frowned at me today, darkly.

There was a time when that would have  mattered.

When I would have wondered if I were the cause.

           Or his work.

                       Or our plans.

When I would have wondered how to bring  back

           The smile to his face.

                       The dancing to his eyes.

                                   The laughter to his voice.

But today it doesn't matter anymore.

Tears used to fall, making puffs of soil in the breathless August air

           Dry little clouds drifting to nowhere—slowly.

But no tears left to pack down the soil.

No rivulets now on cheek or pillow.

To dust love falls.

           To dust.

Sandra L. Shea, Ph.D.

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