Dust
How unlucky I've been all my life!
This morning, the familiar pang,
and I couldn't shrug it off.
Too old. Too tired.
I can't start again.
In the last hall of the temple
gold plated carvings of gods and dragons
swim over the long wall
intricately simple as tide-pulled weeds
flowing intertwined underwater.
Thick dust covers all the gold surfaces.
I know bad luck makes no difference.
After all, it shouldn't matter.
But it does.