Not finding dirt we went on to find only
Chunks of butter that flitted before eyes.
Where is the dirt was then carefully asked
To move away from our dirt, in isolation
Behind the finger nails, where we all go.
Not finding dirt in the little god's mouth
Its mother saw a whole universe of dirt.
Dirt flowed from excess butter in veins
From buffaloes calmly chewing their cud
Over troughs of sticky rice husk porridge.
Their lower mandibles moved on to night.
Below them was rain dirt feet squished in.
Excuse me ,we talked of dirt against dust
As if there was difference in biblical terms.
Dry dirt can be dust we are a handful of.
We collected it under varnished fingernails
After carefully filing them, with tiny whites
Now visible from under them like old stars
Emerging from a floodlit night sky festival.
While we were still awake ,the nail whites
Were softly flying birds from Siberia seen
In the eastern sky over houses and trees,
They would drop down under our fingers
As we waved little fingers at their wings
They went back soon after their nesting .