The Fleeting Theater of Solar Dust

A slanted cut, a blade of quietude,
reveals dancers, ethereal and light.
In the cone of gold, the restless dust
performs its orbits, without defined way.
Lost atoms, memories held in sway,
trace routes of magic, hidden from sight.

Each grain, a breath of the world’s deep core,
a distant echo, time that starts to fade.
Veils of nothingness, on journeys exploring,
where yesterday and today have been made one.
Whispers of air, visible and slow,
confess old stories, suspended in silence.

An ephemeral scene, a ballet of forgetting,
that changes substance in the falling light.
Until the ray fades, completing its goodbye,
and the minute cosmos escapes into night.
Leaving to the eye, for a brief enchantment,
the memory of flight, pure and so near.