Temporary

If only you could see it

This speck of dust, Love

Eked out with pen and paper

Hardly the stuff

Shakespeare would ink

Running line after line

In eloquent rime

There are so few rimes in mine

And perhaps no reason

Only dust and desire

A heart drawn in the dust

Of a car windshield,

Or in the sand

For rain or sea

To wash away,

Always temporary

And sometimes invisible

Slipping under a door

Like smoke

To dissipate and vanish

With a slammed door

Or cough

Or breath breathed too hard

Sometimes, all that’s left

Is the dust,

Waiting for some

New poet

To eek out

Rime or reason

Or perhaps

Even love

email to Al Sullivan