Premonition of Dust

by Laura Morefield

Cloud shapes echo the rise of distant mountain peaks

Like an afterthought,

a premonition of dust.

 

You call, the fear of loss clenching

Your familiar voice as you tell me how a stranger nearly killed

Your beloved with her drunken speed and lack of care,

With her youth and assurance of immortality,

With her ignorance.

 

It will all end in dust,

Every love, every hate, every evil and sacred moment.

But knowing that does nothing

To stop the fear--recognition of peaks in the distance.