still looking for redemption in the dust

still sorting through these ashes for meaning

like spreading out puzzle pieces on a table or

kneeling down to draw on the ground,

tracing lines in the dirt that extend

back to the dust promised to Abraham,

who sat down and tried to count each particle

when God said his offspring would be so numerous

and here I am: a dusty offspring, grateful if mystified

that dust and ashes matter to the almighty God,

that a clump of dirt can be breathed into life;

I wonder if the scatteredness I feel

is the memory of my dust

recalling its fellowship with all dust

when we were spread out on the ground together

being pushed and shoved and counted

by the finger of Abraham;

if there is meaning in these ashes

perhaps it can be found not only in the Breath

but also in the camaraderie of dust to dust

and ashes to ashes.