Peter Layton

Sand

I've been taught to
sleep with my weapon
eat with it
feed it its shells
oiled, cleaned,
we are often as one
it grasps much I
hold deeper inside
you
sharing this space and not
hearing and feeling all I can't say
the late night hours tick
the hard closeness of them
saying my epistles to you
you seeming
the dust of morning
nearby, wishing everything away
I'll hold this
warm dark wood
inside like a candle flame
the deeper inside smoking cold shells
readying to do me harm
I'm always armed, night after night of same
the cold framed trees
the starklights
the cold
held in.

{Peter Layton}