A mother sinks her hands
Softly into sand
From it she shapes stories
Her vision of the land
The tide steadily approaches
Waiting for his turn
Creation births destruction
Bodies turn to urns
What meaning has urgency?
What significance, the land?
When water's made for time
The shore exists for sand
Mother, father, ruler, teacher
Manage, savage, takers, leavers
Overtime
Sandstone, to lime
Pebbles take their shape
Sand begins
Moving in
Sculpting for the wake
Mother sees what sand could be
She takes a turn of grace
Her futile goal is a paradise
But she's trying to turn rocks
Into lace
