From a distance, desert sand rising through
wind seems legions of ghosts wisping, gliding
like memory through ages. Each grain knew
what we know now—how bodies colliding
grind at our essence. When lightning first stabbed
quartz sand, glass evolved. So now we see all
outside our shelter, peer inside our labs’
beakers, judge purity of each drink, call
our clarity by shades of glass. Mollusks,
when irritated, create their own grains
within pearl sacs, defending from each brusque
push of great ocean wave. It’s worth grave pains
I suppose. Look how this pearl glistens blue
then white in twilight. I give it to you.
Roger Armbrust
January 21,
2013
