The Golden Dust

The other day. 
A full moon was walking 
on the pavement 
like a pedestrian. 

I was dumbfounded 
at the sight of the imperial walk. 
To give a poetical start? 

Was it a pin drop visual 
with no sound? Only night 
was listening to footfalls? 

I would not know of, 
the journey of ending 
or ending of journey. 

Like death burning 
inside the seed, or a golden 
flame becomes a lapping machine?