10 March 2014


"we come spinning out of nothingness, scattering stars like dust".   rumi

dust. i haven't got much to say about it other than there's been a lot. in my eyes. in my hair. in my clothes. and even in my ears. 

i've nearly finished pulling the ceiling down. heavy slabs of compacted earth and animal hair have been sailing past my head and exploding into fine clouds as they hit the floor. 

where little bits of ceiling have been hitting the rubble sacks i noticed tiny meteor showers and celestial lights bursting against a black night sky. 


little cosmic dust poem
by john haines

   out of the debris of dying stars,
   this rain of particles
   that waters the waste with brightness...

   the sea-wave of atoms hurrying home,
   collapse of the giant,
   unstable guest who cannot stay...

   the sun's heart reddens and expands,
   his mighty aspiration is lasting,
   as the shell of his substanace
   one day will be white with frost.

   In the radiant field of orion
   great hordes of stars are forming,
   just as we see every night,
   fiery and faithful to the end.

   out of the cold and fleeing dust
   that is never and always,
   the silence and waste to come...

   this arm, this hand,
   my voice, your face, this love.

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