Silver Dust Poem by Agnes Clark

Once this fine-ground dust was a dancing maiden
Bearing fruits carved out of Pentelic marble.
Dressed in pleated robe white as a mountain summit,
Pure for the goddess.

Strange awareness born of the lifeless powder
Stirs a fear-filled memory long ice-buried,
Tragic doom that scatters in formless fragments
All my loved glitter.

Chaste carnations wilt in the dying moonlight;
Pale-plumed bird flew high from me to destruction;
Foam-light pets with silky, soft curling coats lie
Deep in ther earth beds.

Paint your soul night-black, or my dear beloived!
Rage or threaten, dark as the sullen stormcloud.
Scrape your palette clean of all pearly pigments;
So I may hold you.