A Fine Dust

What dirt blackens these trees over?
The charcoals slather and rain from sallow stones of opal.

You slide your fingernails
to sling the sedimented earth
from those soft gowns.

I felt you as you woke.
You lost our skin.
These are birds drowning over-the-top of us,
        but mostly you.

This ocean curdles heavy clots,
        besetting my compass with shards
        of rusticular iron; the hail washing over the needle.

This is a bottomless smoke in my breast
like a city
exuding a fine dust.