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Dingy dusty corners

were once places

where the specks danced in the rays

fluttered to the ground

and sighed deep

a permanent sort of fall.

If I were to gather the specks

in my hands

they’d be stained

and I would start to dance

until the rays pierce

softly through my excitable flesh

Particles, particles,

spread across my palms

dancing, dancing

cutting through light and places

dingy, dusty figures

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