Poem — Dust

Photo by Shelby Miller on Unsplash

The vestige of a vivid stone

Etched in threads of tint

Moved like a crucible

Mazed like a void wave

Around my soiled self

A prism lost in primitives

Full of fissures and filth

Curled my morphing veins

Making minute moves in thewind

Making mirrors grey and grand

Making attics arcane and asymptotic

I chose to chisel a cave

Only to route the radiance of a rock

Standing in the summer of a sojourn