Cup me in your hands and see
the granules of me
slip through the deep ravines
between your fingers.
Gravity propels
the million particles
to the cracking earth beneath,
So I,
Scattered,
will dust the prickled spines of cacti in the East
while I plummet through the canyon deep below
and blind you with my grainy essence.
How might I,
Acrid Spirit that I am,
soothe the burning lacerations
in your flesh?
Would that I were the cool, blue deep
with healing sustenance
in my fluid caress.
Would that I were, at least,
a Tear
to cleanse the bacteria that I,
my crusty self,
have sealed so raggedly into your skin.
