dream is a vagabond

I like the dust on window sills.
I like it more on the windows of an old church,
an abandoned one if there was one.
Dust, the pristine remoteness of its virginity
rests in it’s attribute of ‘untouchability’.
On the altar, the idol,
on the archaic staircases, photographs,
vessels,swords and truth,
a covert uniqueness,
a positive imagination sleeps
covered, and in waiting.

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