Dust

I

Part I

I was dying when I met him.

Blood pooled out from beneath me like flames

burning at the edges of a canvas. 

Above me

stars blinked, 

watched Winter and Time battle for the white clouds that 

curled, twirled 

vanished from my lips.

Stillness plagued the trees, the creatures of night,

my body, 

but not the winds that whispered then,

rushed, brushed,

forced all in its path to shiver or bow.

All except for

me and him.

There ain’t much I knew then.

How I got there, why.

But I knew he wasn’t death.

There was too much life in those eyes

that lowered and lifted, lowered.

But I might have been wrong,

cause the wind blew again,

and he was gone. 

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