Dance On Winter

Dust sketching curlicues in the grey light,
Streaming through the window, soaking a chair
That I always thought was drab.
The dust falls; sits on the faded tan
Of the leather. The dust sat.
My teacup left my hand; plummets down to
Tabletop. Dust and steam dance
Curlicues in the draining light.
The dust and steam dance on winter.