Dust

I am older than the sky. I can vaguely remember the water separating from the ocean, their beautiful and amicable divorce, to fly towards the sun and solidifying like angelic sheep. I can still recall God, in his...in her...in their majestic and comforting demeanor, leaning down to scoop a handful of dust into the air. Inhale. Exhale. Life from a dead thing. As we once were, so we will become.