The Ephemeral Dunes of the Sill

On the sill, a smooth border between inside and out,
where air filters through and light rests lazily,
the dust, not born of fairy tale or deceit,
but from a subtle breath, invisible, gathers, aggregates.

Miniature crests rise up, fragile architectures,
minuscule mountains, an ephemeral landscape,
drawn by currents, silent sculptures,
that the sun caresses in a slow passage.

Every grain a story, without carved words,
an ephemeral stop before the new flight,
like cathedrals of sand, inert, smiling,
which the next breath undoes in one.