The sand of you,
the part that is more rock
than man,
more stone
than skin
The part whose form is heavy
and predictable,
and lets the water roll over its back,
or invites the sunshine to burn,
thrown across the water,
some girl, if she does it right,
will make you skip;.

Science knows you,
teaching your form,
still is your life,
the apple of your eye,
and your color transforms
as slow as mountains grow
and you cry
only when the heavens cry.

One day you’ll become even more
ingrained and permanent,
back into the earth, immense womb,
bones not even scattered across the sea
or any wild land;
but just here as a pebble is here,
hidden in some strange intention,
to remain loyal and steadfast
to time and space,
as you always have been,
inside the craggy rocks
and the still cliffs of isolated shores,
indifferent to the cat’s calls
as she kicks you as if a can.

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