Less than dirt
At least dirt has a purchase,
a place.
You pat the ground,
it stays.
I am the dust,
that wanders
with no home,
and no hands
to keep me tethered
in windy weather.
I am neither ground
nor breeze,
Earth
nor sky.
I am dust motes
flying before your eyes
brushed away
unnoticed,
less than dirt,
detritus drifting.
An invisible nothing.
Not worth
sifting.













