Isolation

I see a mote of dust
whirling
. . on
. . . . im
per . .
. . cep
. . . . ti
. . . . . . . ble
. . . . currents
of air

| dangling
| on
| a
| thin
| stream
| of
| light

feeling nothing
but the way the
wind blows past
its small cubic
volume of space

drifting


(alone)


through emptiness


Jieruei Chang