How The Dust Gets Laid

The dust of their coming and going Sifts down through the years, Their gravity once knotted fabric to flesh; Even though they're near, Just the ashes, are all can impress. Since time snapped in two between their fingers, They haven't aged much, except to uncoil, Unwind branching strands; Under satin recoil Beneath brass sheaths, the body banal. We walk upon the faces of kings, and sleep High, on the ruined backs of strangers; All unknowing, how the dust gets laid, Unaware of the danger- Every generation becomes the new day.