Two types of dust I require to wipe my sin

Ashes have no fear to burn in hell
In your heart's paradise angels dwell
Rib cage fastens all sins of the wrong
Your bones will sing you mortality’s song

You are a cool cemetery.
You have the sinner’s grave
You have the saint’s earth
colliding
You have all the beds
narrow as a knife;
as if a rally of tombstones to defend death.
But you can’t really postpone
the inauguration of my burial,
can you?

From the poem - Few Words to Cemetery

We're going to wipe that surface down and get all that residual dust off of there.

Dust is the parent of a star!

We have so much to learn from a fallen teardrop which is wiped away from our cheek…never to be felt again