No beginning is good enough
I heard the sand grains say
repeatedly
They're blown about
unstuck their cover is fragile
They always remember being
some place else
vague and connected
loosely they're tied
to the stupid wind
by their own choosing
Restless they will be everywhere,
so they aren't picky.
Some get sticky
and buried
under stainless water,
and some mount up
thru seismic waves
into volumes of sandstone,
only to be trimmed into shorter sentence,
whipped into tenderness,
groomed into the latest
fashion,
those banded dunes that sulk
the passion.
