Sand by Virginia Hainsworth

A grain of sand.  A grain

amidst a desert, grain on grain.

Its absence goes unnoticed

as it slips into the gap

and falls beneath.

Second by second, they disappear,

each one leaving no trace.

The tiny gap consumes them

but only one by one.

Their exodus relentless.

And yet their passage shows itself

from time to time, but briefly.

At first, I wished them gone,

to welcome new and better ones.

Too soon forgotten.

Too slow it seems and then too quick.

Too much to bear, there’s more to come

and brighter ones, I hope.

The growing plane of fallen grains

spreads out behind.

Until the day, when suddenly

the dunes are gone, the desert flat

and, falling still, the grains.

The reason clear to me.

Too late. 

So precious now each grain becomes

and still I cannot catch and hold.

But look at how the fallen ones

have shaped themselves.

Too far to touch.

The landscape past is making sense.

The one to come, though shrunken,

is shiny new and, breathing deep,

I welcome it.

My toes can feel the sand at last.