Beginnings

Can I even remember
what it smelt like
the touch of pink sand--talcum powder soft
cool beneath my back
sea salt drying to crystals
in the breeze of the bay
the breeze
ever present, yet
barely rippling the sand
lifting the grains, teetering them
on tiny, jagged ridges

Do they fear
the constant risk of toppling
the lifting from their beds

Does remembering
the sea shell
large enough to weather a tide existence
give them strength

Do they long
for a time before
the constant tumult
turning them, rubbing them
again and again
into a neighbor, a forgotten anchor
the shards of others

Did they believe
that peace followed
the loss of their crustacean skin

I'm not sure I can remember
the whiff of sea spray
hidden in the sand
years, tempests have landed me
far from Horseshoe Bay

But I can never forget
the sand on my skin
its satiny grit