Moved finger

Moving finger has writ and moves on.
After it is calcined dust inside a vault

It points where empty spaces spread
In dust of a writ word walking dead.

Finger wonders at old finger 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 in its mouth,

A dust pouring diagonally from roof,
A different dust but of the same light.

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