Dust
You can see it on my clothes
Buried deep under folds of cardboard
and concrete
It gathers around my grandfather standing next to his Chevy
The car was red, but I only know that
from memory
It stands still on the guitar I took to class when I was 10
I can still feel the strings bend against my
soft fingers
It's so old, and I dare not brush the dust away
It sits on the windows, whistling to the light
Caressing the light so you could see where the beam was coming from
It was like it was holding onto the light,
afraid of the darkness
It gathers around, humming in the air
Swaying to the beats of the sun, the cold,
and the footsteps
The dust sits on my shoulders
The dust of past remains