Outside Doves the color of dust. Dust scattered with seed. Birds eat as though nothing has changed. Chatterings continue unabated. Inside Movements have disturbed old dust
that settled, quiet
over time on unmoving things until we'd almost stopped seeing them. Silence after the roar. Outside In the aftermath I wait, wincing at the insistent sun, and fear the naked air. Turn away, look back as this rusted truck takes roads long denied. Dust lingers in its wake.
~ Elodie Pritchartt, 2007