The poem rises
like dust in sunlight
as I hold my breath
~Rick Maxson, “Ars Poetica” from Molly and the Thieves
Words have breathed life into the dust from which we all were created.
I am still a mess of dust and words. Words suspended in light before my eyes are a reminder that God Himself breathed life and spirit into merest dust.
When I try to wrestle words down from the air to the page, I try to help them make sense, hoping then I might make sense.
I find myself holding my own breath as I write, as if that will keep my words orderly and safe, yet they have a tendency to come out jumbled and random, with no rhyme nor reason.
In my world, there is no such thing as mere dust or meaningless words. They wait for God’s holy breath to bring them to light and life.
Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.
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