The Equilibrium of Dust

The scales are balanced by a grain of dust, The residue of all the things we knew. We've traded every copper coin of lust, To keep the single thread of being true. Weigh the shadow of the needle's eye! Sieve the thistles from the garden's bed! The equilibrium of the lie— Is all the currency among the dead! The parlor floor is covered in the gray, A topography of names we can't recall. The evening took the light of day away, And left a heavy silence in the hall. A drop of water on a thirsty tongue, The final grain of a life compressed. The oldest song that we have ever sung, Is now the only signal that was sent. The thread is thin. The dust is deep. The peace begins— Inside the sleep. The grain holds all. The grain holds all.