The moon, through shards in the moire damask, revealed the greyness within; all colour bleached from the fabric. It passed across faded carpets and lit upon tapestries. Silk fell to the ground, rags of Shantung and dust of Persia. Ravages perpetrated by time.

the moon is shardish tonight
                it's a ravaging bleacher

its fingers go white over everything
                from Persia to Lyonesse

bonewhite and cloudwhite and eyewhite
                white as the sound

of one bent girder imperceptibly
                shifting over another