The possibilities of dust are few,
for in and of itself it’s powerless,
since on its own there’s nothing it can do
but coat a surface as a lifeless dress.
Yet some dust has been shaped and breathed to life–
all creatures that now populate the Earth,
the countless species with which it is rife,
have had by way of this deep breath their birth.
But we forget that we were simply dust
before that breath had animated us,
and in our feeble powers put our trust,
though flesh becomes again what it once was.
O, Love, may I recall each time I breathe
that there’s no life except what You bequeath.


Mario A. Pita

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