The Eclipse of the Sacred

The sacred is the fly that flies

in a dark corner of the ceiling,
it is the clicking of a forgotten watch.
It is the dust that breathes,
the color of a formless dream.
It is the smell of the invisible,
the embrace of a silence too vast.
It is there,
in the grain of the ground,
in the oblivion of the morning,
in the corner where nothing settles.