all over, colonising the spaces
we don’t look: under beds, behind the fridge,
in the deep crease at the back of the couch.
Collecting in shadows that which was us,
mutinous. This great army of dust is
looking to assert itself – half-sentient,
practically evolving, a life-form.
This is the shedded history of us,
who we were when we were imagining
what living might be like days, weeks from now.
We never guessed the shape of things to come.
We stand now at windows looking into
the depths of the universe, the great sweep
of stars. The corners begin to murmur.