Satin Sands

Copyright 1999 Jonathan Marcus

 

 
Sand collects in tiny dunes, in doorways
it overflows sidewalk cracks
and spills forth with flourish.

 Bells chime in remote distance
barely audible, barely meaningful
out here the air throbs with primal breezes
and songs of gulls that need no meaning

 Continents unravel at the ocean’s edge
and civilization too. Beach towns across the world
seem so loose, so untidy. But they woo you
with new air blown across endless waters.

 Golden grains from ancient oceans
relentlessly rub borders corners and colors
all soft and smooth, so beach towns’ hard edges
roll to a satin pastel patina.

 The bricks in buildings, cool floors in stores
the drape of clothing soft as sea foam and even hands of the clock
all whisper like palm fronds. They’ve all been
sanded down and slowed down and wizened.

 Distant chimes fade from earshot,
replaced by seamless melodies and the powdery-smooth rhythms
of wind and water gliding and whooshing
platinum sheets of sand buff the dunes to silkiness.

 These long-grained rhythms are reflected
on dune-strewn streets and sidewalks, where footsteps
are scored slowly and softly like brushes on the cymbals
by deeply sensitized percussionists in an intimate jazz.