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Moon Dust

When you weren't looking
Tickled by driftwood clouds
The moon sneezed

And in the morning
Lying silver upon the ground
Was crushed moon dust

The spell had avoided
Sharp corners and furrows
And blackbird songs

It gilded the soft
Grass and car windows
With glinting sleep

And the spell was spent
The moon swallowed by dawn's
Fevered trumpets

This is the signature
Of tides. Signal and pure
Silent moon dust

© David Incoll 2001

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Copyright by David Incoll 2001