Grains mean nothing until I find it,
Whatever it is I am looking for.
If I look at the sky too long,
I cannot then see when I cast my fractured eyes,
Between my toes.
The sky tells of the past,
Yet shows no decay of time,
No hard build up of pity, hatred, mortality,
We look to the sky for answers,
But it blinds us from what we have,
In the sand, beneath our feet,
When we look back down.
Even if the grains hold something,
We cannot determine it's shape,
For looking at the skies stories,
Will always blur and burn what we see,
When we cast out eyes back to what might be lying beneath our toes.
