Thursday, April 23, 2020

sand

once again we find ourselves
at the end of words.
we sit by the shore,
or walk along it;
listen for birdsong
but receive instead
the gulls’ insistence.
waves crest and crash
and roll and foam
and deposit more
sand, rubbed smooth
by pressure and repetition.
perhaps a grain is forced
into a clam, alchemically
becoming a pearl.
perhaps precious;
or else a curiosity,
until it is snatched
from its fleshly bed
and offered as gift
or commodity
like words –
an irritation
in their ubiquity
or their absence;
how they scour the skin,
reveal the pinker tissue
beneath, thrown into relief
by their careful arrangements:
adornments or adorations.