The dust justifies living,
Or rather an absence
This dust is a void of nonsense.
It paints pianos shut with fear
And makes the steps creak.
It is the lines on an old stuffed teddy bear.
It just makes your knees weak.
The dust takes over the house
And climbs along the walls.
It drives out the mouse
And dust runs when someone calls.
Dust… is absence of love.