From wence you came
there you return
child of dust
Betty Fluff.

Why that's just a bit of fluff

misheard by a small pair of ears.
She's as real as her particles
dog, dirt, and that which was
sighed and sloughed from us all.

Now skudding across
the linoleum floor
The force of the broom
like an urge to go where
none have been before.
A shining open sea
of possibility.

Try to follow her and she's gone
But her name floats back
from that childhood home again.