I have black sand at the bottom of my soul.

It is not always still. It whirls around sometimes,

Sometimes it creases and makes shapes

(If they mean something, I don’t know)

But then it settles down again.

Dark, harmless, smooth. Each grain tiny.

So what’s the weight?

Other people have rocks at their bottom,

I only have sand; I cannot complain.

Black sand and rather still, mostly.

Sometimes it flies about and blinds me,

Sometimes it lifts and makes me cough,

But then it settles down again.

What if a great wind, one day

Arose and blew it off, forever off me,

Who would I be then?

But then it settles down again.