Pre Devonian

Sand

Everywhere, in everything.

The grit of woe.

Silica is,

The ultimate scouring

Circling timeline.

Like a long shore drifter

I am not a tide line.

Neither am I Flotsam

Or jetsam.

Deserted,

This is no beach.

So I am nether.

I am a problem,

A prophet.

Sun glazed

I hear voices.

Sun spot

I see solar flares.

Here there is the heat of hell

And the ash of the hearth.

And a spirit

Lingering,

Longing to be seen.

The grains add up,

And the sift of time

Elopes with the other King.

All are similar.

None equidistant

From the fusion

Of creation.

From the fountain

Of life,

The source of creation

Who initiates it all,

And officiated

At the occasion of That Bang.

C2019 Christopher Thompson

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