The Second Psalm of Dust

 When the world grows still enough, even the hum of traffic can sound like prayer.

She was stiller than at other times,

When the light lay low and the world

Was hushed as if silence had taken form,

And garbed itself in traffic lights and dark,

Dusty Carolinian streets at middle eve.

The glow overhead haunted to its own rhythm.

The flashing of a four-way intersection overhead,

Yellow, periodically painting her silver-ashen hair

In temporary gilded golden glory through glimpses,

At the subtle ticking of the light changing, humming.

“Dust?” we offer — more out of long familiarity with

The Prophet’s eccentricities than ought else.

She turns, her muscled physique evident in her

Yoga pants and hempen hoodie as she smiles —

That warm and radiant smile, the cousin to the sun.

“Welcome,” she smiles again, disarming us subtly,

“I know you like to be succinct and informed,

And thus we are in the shared space of liminal lines.”

She reaches down, grabbing a handful of dirt — puzzled.

“Namesake,” she chuckles, letting the sand fall.

“How do we hear Him? Like really know it deeply?”

She raises an eyebrow, blowing a wisp through

Longer dusty-gray hair this time than others.

“When He speaks, creation bends the knee—”

She blazes her weapon-grade smile again.

“He will make Himself known in the stillness,

In the interlinked moments of lives shared,

Intimately known as only a Father could.

He will stop you with silence — then like wind,

Blow upon you, the ember buried neath.”

“The soul’s source intertwined as living

Vines merging and growing — self and Him.”

The mystery of Godliness is great indeed.

She nods solemnly as she begins to vanish.

“He will make Himself known with a cold chill,

That moment you realize He heard — He answered.”

“Wait, Dust—” we motion fruitlessly as she drifts,

Granules of sand and color intermixed with light,

Almost like the handful she had earlier stooped

To grab and joke about it being “Namesake.”

Perplexed, we sink back slowly, like thick buttery

Syrup soaking down fluffy stacked blueberry pancakes.