When the grains of your sand
Moved
One by one
Slowly, at first,
Shifting under me
Like it was normal;
It meant nothing.

Until the avalanche came
And a million tiny grains
Grew in velocity
And violence
And suddenly, my very ground,
Had slipped; shifted,
To under the feet of another.

So here now I stand
On this bare; barren ground
Worn smooth by your leaving
Silent in your wake.

I pick up a rock
Hold it in bloodied hands,
And I use it
To forget;
To carve new ground to stand on
But this time I shall not need it,
It shall need me.