Dust in Sunlight

A shaft of afternoon light catches the dust suspended like a thousand tiny lives in their brief, golden dance.

Each speck carries the weight of its small journey— from a fabric's thread, from the corner of a room that no one visits.

They do not fall. They do not rise. They float in the geometry between the window and the wall, refusing both descent and sky.

I watch them move through light the way I watch my own thoughts— uncertain whether they are moving, or whether the light itself is moving through them.