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.