Sand
June 12 2022
Life is alluvial.
There is the line in the sand.
How we confined ourselves,
drawing boundaries
or imagining them,
only to find how easily
even a gentle breeze could erase
all evidence of their existence.
There are the sands of time.
The hourglass
we ignored
relentlessly emptying,
the silky sound
of smoothly flowing sand
we were wilfully deaf to.
Because, back then
the fullness of time
seemed bottomless.
And then the folly
of building on sand.
Our foundational beliefs
that didn't so much harden
as brittle;
so all it took
were a few days of hard rain
to wash the ground from under our feet.
But all I can think of
is lying by your side
skin-to-skin
on the beach that day,
fine brown sand
soft and warm against our backs,
hot sun
on our naked bodies
'til we could no longer stand the heat.
Then into the sea,
feeling the gritty little particles
that had mixed with our sweat
sluice off
in cool clear water.
And in its buoyant salt
feel all the weight we've been bearing
lift.
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