The code

another exceptional piece by one of my favorite writers.

Bart Wolffe


An hourglass, these dunes that whisper.
Each grain in the wind’s hands sifts and shifts
As if some body flexing,
Each step a man makes on its skin
Is quickly forgiven as the sand reclaims
Its edgeless form.
It is the face of time, the end and beginning.
The shoreline pulses endlessly,
The ocean dreams.

When first the lung fish crawled to land
And lay above the surface,
Who knew then horizon waited
For the crawl to become a man.

The cradle is salt and wet and brooding.
The grave is granular, is grit and ground
And grinds out the bones that over aeons
Grow thin again to blow down the dunes
Where the womb once more receives them.

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