Streams run slowly, water trickles over
flattened stones, too heavy to be turned in the
laborious ebbing of the water above.
They erode, awaiting a current
To carry them along,
down into the sea.
How much time passes before they are sand?
Volumes of water have passed over her as she lays,
She decides to move, current or not
Undeterred, shedding an outer skin
Looking for the confidence within
To be counted, acknowledged.
In taciturn silence, naked, confused,
Small progress a few inches here or there,
Wishing to feel the warmth of the sun once more
Or a gentle hand carressing, she stirs.
Awakening from deep slumber
Willing herself to reach the ocean.
The cruel sun teases her through the crystal waters
tantalising her bare emotions
Finally a current comes
How long before she is sand?