I will start this thing
   and come back to it.
    Dust kicked up from my shoes
     the image there for an instant
      smoky, settling between my toes.

I cannot convey
   the sense of the words
     drifting over like fog
      waking me with a pounding heart.
      This is important, it whispers.

My eyes filmed by years
    light between the motes,
      grasping a shape of truth.
       Straining to hear a lovely voice
        forgetting the last of the song.