Sand

Poetry, Uncategorized

He won’t believe me,

this boy who saw glass 

melted flame hot 

spun stretched and blown –

from sand.

 

All those fish that swam over it

lived among it, died with it between their teeth

so we make windows, bottles, lenses 

from opaque time.

 

Out there, the sea keeps kneading it 

even without earshot

and spreading it out

that sea so clear 

it gifts it name to glass.

 

For the children, really

– like this unbeliever –

so they can see.

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One thought on “Sand

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