Dust

So when I think of you there is light. There is a window that disappears at night and returns at sunrise. There is the dust of us on the slant of incoming rays warming the rooms where we were, the many rooms, the dust of us blended, one sheath of light.

Already have an account? Log in

Want to keep reading? Join our community:

Subscribe

Support great writing by becoming a full subscriber to Liberties Journal.

Subscribe Today

Free Preview

Sign up with your email address, and access two free articles per month.

We hope you've enjoyed your free articles!

Become a full subscriber for only $50/year, (33% off cover price).

Thank you for supporting great writing.

Subscribe Today
Log In Subscribe

Sign Up For Free

Read 2 free articles a month after you register below.

Register now