Dust rises from the dirty sheets 

Like heat off a radiator.

Their stained surfaces ripple, 

Murmuring the song of the eastern winds. 

I am tired, 

But I ignore the heat in my shoulders as I beat,

Fighting the gales 

With my cloth-bourne sails 

Threatening to drag me away.

Stained with the soot of the earth, 

White origins eroded to a dry tan

Through the battering of daily use.

I shake them out,

Hoping to restore some of their clarity, 

But iron-stains remain.

The whispering wind cuts shallow, 

Rousing the dust off the surface  

To float on the gusts,

Carried away over the horizon 

Like the final rays of sunlight 

As evening approaches.