Perhaps The Sky Broke?

Tiny blue crystals were everywhere:
in the sand, on the rug, even in the tub,
minute, translucent, thin as fingernails.
We thought that we should clean up.
But this was not our fault.
There were too many, and increasingly
more the more you looked.
And they moved, sliding away from touch,
even popping airward like dandelion puffs.
They formed indecipherable patterns
on the walls; and at the mere thought
of vacuum, broom or mop, they multiplied.
It quickly turned from fun to frightening.
When we went to the authorities,
they said we’d trespassed in a forbidden zone,
but would not be prosecuted if we left quickly
and forgot what we had seen. Tell anyone,
and you will be forever haunted, they said.
Just go now, they warned, And burn your clothes.

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I'm a writer living in Massachusetts.