The Hourglass

A massive granite boulder stood erect and solid on the shore, gazing at the

distant line where sea and sky collide, deep blue below and pale blue above, azure

edges bound together as if stitched with an eternal thread: a border on a quilt that never

ravels, never wears. And as the boulder watched, it felt the ocean’s salty waves,

until it cracked and crumbled, turning into shards and stones, and then,

like sea and sky, the rock and water merged, becoming sand.

One day a child with pail and shovel scooped the sand

into an empty hourglass. It glittered as it trickled

from past to future, pulled by force of

gravity, swept along

from end to end

drifting

down

in the

one direction

it could possibly

go, without knowing how, or why,

until a wild and random white cap plunged

itself upon the shore. It flipped and tossed the hourglass

as if it were a fish, until it was no longer standing as before,

but now its top was bottom, bottom top, and the unwitting sand began to

travel back through time, not knowing it had made the trip before, not realizing that

the hourglass was its eternal home, neither half-empty nor half-full, only a vessel

carrying moving energy, the kind that’s made when sea and sky collide.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This is a rough draft of a poem I’m working on. WordPress messed up the formatting a bit, and I’m not sure about the title. Suggestions welcome! (I’ve never written a shape poem before.)

This is post #4 for NanoPoblano2019. Click the link to see great stuff by other wild and crazy November bloggers!