yet in the light of the passing day,
dust particles still dance,
in spite of her efforts.
the infallible remains of dead skin and soil,
twirl around her,
(her only company).
until the light fades from the sky
the dust is silent, unseen
and she is alone.
until it happens:
the flickering light of a single star
then another, and another, and another.
mopping, sweeping, scrubbing, polishing,
but she cannot clean the stars above,
and for this she is grateful.
Inspired by: Microcosms 8