(A small part in a story I now and again remember. The moment is written in meter.)
A speck of dust within the air floats harmlessly around, and though many in swirling patterns twirl, this one I watch. The sun, through window there, a square of light throws down—the dark ones all about—I’m safe within the beam—like sharks circle my isle.
The night I hope will never come, nor shadow pass over, for in that dread reality my little speck would be no more.