Again I wake
to find myself
reaching out my hand,
holding a grain of sand.Am I walking in my wake?
What is pushing me
to take this tiny grain away?
What does this say?What does it hold
of which I gain
in taking this grain
of which I hold?The sand—
anything I take, I use—
every one and all—
I lay down abuse.This is a breach;
not a beach—
I beseech myself—
We are a pair!You and I—
we are pairs;
a pair of parties,
and I tear what we wear.There is nothing not paired.
Not pairing fruit shape.
Nothing coming alone.
Every grain of sand.Every tiny home.
It is loop shaped.
It is a tree that gave,
not food but a cave—This crave to take
what gives only hate,
It is good but it gives—
this desire that lives.I hold it up—my grain,
this sand I have gained
from the ground—
with my time,
with this rhyme;
And I hear no sound…I am donating my being,
and it is pouring down.
It drains onto the ground,
and not even a sound—It gives not even a frown.
It is wet with my mind,
with a kind of myself—
this grain even now,
it has me in its hand.I have to decide—
will I let it go?
Will I sacrifice what I hold;
let it fall—and flow—
out with my tide
beside every hourglass
that is empty of asking.There’d be no bringing back—
no matter how I’d pull.Sand doesn’t return—
not with the mood at noon—It would be night;
the loss of this light,
this ray on this grain
would forever away.So I look on this sand,
staring back in my hand—
this speck perhaps of quartz,
and a calcite corpse,they’re particularly small—
a school of narwhal
surfacing for air
under my globes of despair.And yes, they are stuck.
Stranded, they don’t move.
Not even to flinch
Or to blink as I gawk.They’re hard to see—
And the more I look,
the more I look—
the more I’m on its hook;
they’ve got me.It holds me here
just by its look—
It wants me—
to hold me,
to keep me in its gaze.While I—
let go.
When I tip my hand—
or if I blow with a puff,
even a small gust of wind
would be enough—
and it would be gone.And will it forever curse me?
And will I forever look back,
searching to know, wondering:
Was it worth it?Even now I know
that this tiny speck,
just a grain of sand,
holds me in a bind—
in a contract we have signed—and I can’t find
any way to get out
without letting go.
Without sacrificing what I know.
Without repudiation,
without this clause
called termination.The pair of us—
are bound
in this moment of touch;
the breaking of which—
is a breach of this beech.We are sundering apart—
everything that we start.
And we are leaching
onto sand not meant to be stained—
I want to have and possess,
what I hold—all alone.And I can’t—
It takes me.
Whatever I take—
it has me.And I am not—
not what I think.
And nothing is.
There is nothing that is mine—
not even my time.Not even my soul,
let alone this grain
I can’t hold.I let go.
No particle.
No property particularly fine.
Nothing is fine.
Nothing is property.The more that I see,
it’s a sand dune sea—
in a desert that flies,
because the wasteland lies.Because I can’t escape
this world that I’m in.
I want what was;
to look back
and then begin—But there’s no way out.
I’m here, alone,
as a tenant without home;
in binding everything I find.And not a single thing—
no rock,
no shell,
no leaf,
no hole,
no tree,
no stump—
no belonging
becomes home.There is no own,
only this terrible loan.
I’m a nomad,
wandering like Cain;
marked by my leaking pain.Whoever finds me will find me.
And I’ll become what I’m made.
I am a renter—
abhorring my lease—
and renewing my term.But what?
But no—
this is not.
This very spot.
This is more.
I’ve forgotten what I forgot.There was a door.
It was here—
There was something
I couldn’t ignore.It was something
on the floor,
something I used to adore.There is a placenta
appearing through the wall—Okay, this can’t be real.
But I can feel—what is this feeling?
It’s not wall:
It is the ceiling.There is blood up there!
It is pulsing all around.
And where is the ground?
I am membered and bound.My surrounds turn their ear.
I am here at this spot.
But what is this knot,
like something I forgot?My clothes are all bloodied!
I’m so confused.
I’d rather be naked.
That’s it—I’m clothed in shame.I didn’t wear a name.
I didn’t own a thing!
How did I get here?—
And where am I?There is no door,
and what is more—
there is no store;
not even a mind!That is it!
I’m here where
I always was
and will be—In utter
And utmost
dependency
on this cord
—this umbilical chord.It wasn’t cut—
I almost forgot!
In fact, I did.
I never was not.Never holding a grain—
Never gaining by hand.
This sand is not mine.There is an accordion playing!
Where is that from—
that sound that I hear?
I remember more.
Something written in law.Something else ignored.
In my body ache.
Was it hidden in lore—?
I must be awake.I see what is more:
I know there is no home,
in this home of me
being alone—But there is this sound.
And that is my chance,
an opportunity—
this is a dance;
to take this time,
to find—I can let go
of all I never did hold.And nothing has me.
And there is no sea—
or not one that goes out.
It never came in.I was in it to begin.
I am swimming in being.
I am floating in bliss—
in knowing its kiss.It was not being held.
I am being beheld.
Nothing was mine—
but mine is known
in its time.This grain—I am.
I am shown.
And sown back down
in this laying aground.And speaking a whisper
that again I can hear:Thank you who sees me.
Thank you for staring.
Thank you for holding,
without even a plea from me—And for not taking me away,
and making me stay,
like a brick is thick,
with a stickening sick—I will hug at this chance—
Mr Bojangles dance—
and the smile,
and the glance.You look and you see:
And I am finally free.Not to go but to be.
To stay and just see.To not forget,
but remember to look—
and look out with sight,
and with eyes of light.To listen and hear.
And sometimes—shout!
There is no echo
coming out.Because all of us here—
all of us say—
we are speaking
and whispering the same:You need to be.
Come with me;
leave—Let’s run away,
not being together,
to heave in a hole
what we cannot cleave—But to join the sea
of its infinitely—
of being itself—Come and see!
Jump in it with me.
Drowning we will be,
then we will breathe.
