Sifting Sand
(A Zejel Poem with Closing envoi))


On rocky hillside where I stand,
I hold the earth right in my hand,
And feel the sense of sifting sand.

Resulting from my hardy climb,
In such enormity of time
That is a complex paradigm,
Far greater than I ever planned

Upon my fingers, flowing through,
I had a thought I never knew -
To scatter eons residue,
I toss the surface of the land.

As I continue here to scour,
Along with every passing hour,
That gives most mystical power,
I know it leaves me feeling grand.

Through these hands, sand particles race.
There's such a joy that I embrace
That you can read it on my face -
The feel of earth at my command.

Sweet Mother Earth flows through my hand
Each cooling strand of shifting sand
On rocky hillside where I stand.