A Pome a Day for a Year

I step between the sand particles,
our atoms never touch and I seep
downwards, sliding through
these abrasive little rocks, untouched
by the coarse and the dry.

I am suspended within, floating
like a ball, inside this golden dune,
this hill that overlooks where I have
been, the way forward blocked
by the vast plains of sun and stone.

Treading water is simple, for I float
naturally, but treading sand, when
we are the same creatures, screaming to
mix and consume, proves the worthier
battle, and this is the inevitable end.

For now, for this time,
I swim upwards, my hands careen
spilling these molecules to my sides
pouring the fragments of time beneath
while the journey passes by.