There’s red dust on the moon.

Some say it’s the particles

of a civilisation

that vanished before God

turned his attention to us.

 

Some say it’s the dust

that God shook off his great coat

after he had finished

arguing with himself.

 

Some say it began as the grand

thoughts of men

that fell derelict

to even grander

indifference.

 

Some say it’s the numbers

of infinity

broken

up

by the weight

of expectations.

 

I say it is too far away

to know

the dust’s first form

but this: it cannot rise

nor fall again.

Warwick McFadyen