Yesterday
- Admin
- Jul 3
- 1 min read
Updated: Jul 4
All your money
won’t another minute
buy.
Dust in the wind.
All we are is
dust in the wind.
—Kansas
We never should have
deemed ourselves as dust.
Quenching rain, perchance.
And never in the
wind—
but the benignity
of breeze.
I’ve had the chance to grasp
that we are seed
as well as bloom.
Gifted in a pistil
from the flight of
savvy wings.
Transpose
our next tomorrow
for today. Tell me how it
differs. It’s some-
how yesterday.
No, not McCartney’s
rueing ode. This
isn’t ’65.
But maybe that is
plausible.
A miracle in mist.
The blear from
dampened eyes.
Perhaps I’m still that
toddler
in the garden. The brush
of moth
beside me. The backyard
soil
sieving
through my fingers
as a prayer;
pretending it is
water
& you thirst.
Andreas Gripp
July 3/4, 2025

photo of Andreas, 1965
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