Walking on the beach, searching
the ground for interesting bits to pick up,
a shell, glittery rock, a bottle stuffed with a note.
The dunes move with the wind,
shifting, sifting through the grass,
shaping and reshaping.
Always changing, storms come
altering the landscape again and again.
Sitting on the sand, digging
a handful, I let it slip through
my fingers, over and over
until my pile grows and peaks.
Watching for a time
the grains begin to slide
down the sides, the hill
that I started begins to slough.
I could pick up the sand
letting it run through my fingers,
softly allowing it to fall to the ground
but it would be different,
each time different.
Eroding to what it was or blown into a new shape
no longer mine.
I smile, it never really was mine.