Being appreciated
by my fingers...

The wind always know
Where it is going
The solid rock is not always as solid
As we might think
One day, it forgets where it came from
And if it was going somewhere
Roots are confused with memories
For a brief moment
The ancient is given a new life
While believing it had none
Imperceptible wings tremble in a gust of wind
Stolen pieces of crystals are carried away
Softened with time
Christened with a new name
Sand
While slipping through my fingers
I love to hear the echo of stories of its past
And feel the dreams of tomorrows…