Were you alone when you found me?
I find it likely. And did I vanish
When you stepped out
Trying to carry me?
I am not surprised.
The swale of heavy sea
As first you march with your sieve
As second you grow heated and angry,
As third you dip your tools into me
And fling my parts into the sand,
Crying, your salt-crusted hair
Hiding your face.
And of course my importance
Yields nothing for either of us.
Myself, too inert. I have already sunk
And gathered in the
Only place that will hold me.
You, crouched by my side,
Bent to the ground, breathing.
We require this place. No one else
Is here, can be here, will believe you,
Will remember at all. When you go,
It cannot be proved that we ever met.