Dust is so evasive;
Clingy like an adverse abrasive
Who's dullness never fails to catch an eye..
Or a cough or to cover any canvas of life...

The depth of the dirt is profound,
ashes collect below your ebbing eyes,
You drown at midday, in quilted air,
Kept in the death mask of dust.
in the muted morning, sun sweeps through the curtains,
a bright blotter of those particles that paste your hair.