dust has nothing to fear

i’m on a long journey, and

i don’t know the way.


the dust under my feet

has nothing to fear;


it’s been here before,

but it has a lot to say—


to the fingers, to the

rib-cage, to this feast, to


the miles walked across

this beach: once you are


thus reduced, you can only

transform into some thing


new—a diamond, a sand-

storm, a brilliant planet.


take every thing that is

happening, every thing you


feel, every thing you keep

silent, every thing you shout—


and kneel: turn it,

churn it into art.


it is the only way in,

and the only way out.