That Dust on the Moon

And what if death is the best
Way to be, pressed rocks and dirt,
Air? We don’t call them still dead,
The bits of the world that seem

Not to have held life. Why not?
Set down the fact that on Earth
It’s hard to find a patch lacks
Some kind of life. Let’s say air,

Air combed free of germs, sealed air
In a tank—can’t that be dead?
And what a fine way to be!
Mute, no wants, no needs, no cares.

Life wants to stay life. That’s all
Life wants, at core, all life is.
And some folks use terms for life
For all things—rocks, stars, clouds, waves.

Would it not be just more just
To be in a world of ways
To be that weren’t just more life?
That dust on the moon is real.