Stardust

The iron clouds shake out
their dust of stars, a galaxy
to feather-fall and form
in powder-patterns on the earth.

Slowly they pile in sleep-soft
pillows on the stones, rounding
the rocks, smoothing the
scars. Lazily they lie on
ledges and along the limbs
of trees; in the settling
silence as colour is covered.

The wind sweeps over the
whiteness, snaking the surface
in ripples and ribbons. Shifting
the spaces to reshape the
ridges. Sifting and circling the
spindrift – high…
to cover the sky.

The silver night crystals the
cloaks of the moon-glazed
mountains; shines in the
glass-cold hollow of a frozen
footprint, in the stillness
in the timeless indigo
under the gazeless glitter of the stars.

Sylvia Stevens