Pareiodolia

 

The sand holds our faces.

Every thousand grains

forms a man, a woman, a child.

 

Every millionth there is your mother-

young, stunning, beauty mark

perfectly spotted on right cheek.

 

Every billionth adds a little weight,

gray, tears and beaches of separation.

 

Every trillionth might be the dirt

blown away at her funeral. 

 

It’s not hard to find a thousand

coffins nesting in the shoreline.

You just need to adjust your eyes

to focus on the tiny-ness below,

to see every relative particle. 

 

Sand is but the erosion

of the once impenetrable.

 

You may find your father

coasts away from your mother,

his bald-headed frown

etched into a tableaux

of a thousand grains.

 

The semblance of

your sister’s smile

and your brother’s jeer

not embracing each other

are also there,

shifting closer

or farther away,

based on the whims

of tide and wind.

 

Your history has been

etched into the grains

centuries before your birth,

yet your fate remains beyond

their sway and maybe even time.

 

No  one can explain

why vast deserts exist.

Why their very ash

is forever tendered

and remembered.

 

All we know is that

the shifting sands

will be there to always

greet and bury us.