Sand
shifts…
Time dances
as mountains
melt through your fingers
leaving ripples
that catch the morning sun
as fingers draw pictures
in spirals
and witness tiny figures marking
passages,
family,
sisters,
circles
moving in and out
leaving footprints
that melt in the moonlight…
One grain of sand,
the beginning of a luminous jewel
or the last vestige of stone
slipping through your fingers
again and again.
seeking
the center-place
where mountains and sand
remember…
Lea
Goode-Harris©
June 23, 2003