Carrying Sand
I pick up particles, so small, they fit
between fingerprint ridges.
Particle thoughts slip, sharp.
A bare leg through a slit skirt,
a knife through ripe fruit.
My mind is like the movement of sand on
dune or beach, slow and sudden, shaken
by wind and water. At the end of the day
altered, but ancient, as if its shape
had been that way since the neolithic.
We dig through thoughts as archaeologists,
dusting bones and fragments, remains -
not realizing that truth is found
in swept dust.
1 Comments:
very beautiful and subtle. Of course I like the bare leg, but thats a guy thing. the idea of particles and dust being important is cool.
Post a Comment
<< Home