Moving finger

Moving finger has writ and moves on. After it is calcined dust inside a vault it points where empty spaces spread .

Finger wonders at old fingers’ writing, a dead word embalmed in pure light where light is dust like in the skylight,from a tiled roof with holes in its sky.

Finger is embalmed in pointing light, a dead word wondering at the present, a dust pouring diagonally from roof ,a different dust but of the same light.

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