Shoulder Dust

We wander in the valley of the dead
Where those who’ve gone before are but the dust
We swipe from shrugging shoulders sans prayer said
And sans ripe understanding that some gust
Of future wind will carry us as well
From shoulders to some distant sunny peak
Or to some deep volcanic inmost hell
To shoot from height or depth into the bleak
And wonderful expanse of time and place
Beyond the sun to space beyond our ken
Where life and death and life at endless pace
Revolve in orbits infinite to then
Re-enter in a drop of summer rain
Watched as it trickles down a window pane.