In the dusty haze of light
reflected through tinted windows,
the sand seems stranded in midair
particles scattering in all directions
like a puff of smoke
falling softly with no purpose
until it settles into piles
the world on end,
waiting
for it to be scattered again:
from a footstep
                 an acceleration
                                   a lofty breeze
the golden flecks making their way
into cracks, between toes;
yearning for a home,
as though they were taken from their own.