A Mote Emotes

We float in weightless ecstasy, my countrymen and I
Invisible, we dance unseen until, perhaps, a beam
Of cloudless sun unveils our show to the observant eye

This throng will dance in light and air as if locked in a dream
But often tempo ratchets up encouraged by a breeze
We are not as benevolent as we, at first, may seem

If we can find you mouth and nose a favourite game’s to tease
Your nose will run, your eyes will itch and often cry some tears
We dance our dance inside your nose until we make you sneeze

Some huddle under furniture, if undisturbed, for years
But I prefer to be alone and dance to my own drum
I whirl; I float in dreamy drifts, unmindful of my peers

But I am not complacent for I know I may succumb
To mop and bucket, duster or voracious vacuum.


Survivor poem - Form Y - Terza Rima Trigger 23