sand and glass

Human footprints in the sand

perhaps the trail of a woman

who is playing and hiding,

waiting to be found and suppressing

a giggle as her lover follows

the tracks in the sand.

Footprints in the sand as a travesty

or the final clues of a missing child

last seen in swim clothes and

carrying a red beach ball

and frolicking in the waves.

Footprints in the sand as a puzzle,

perhaps tracks observed by tourists

who believed they were alone

at this beachfront villa

and now wonder with whom

they must share their solitude.

Footprints like braille or hieroglyphics,

semiotic injunctions on the empty soul,

messages without grammar but overflowing

with all possible meanings.

And within these footprints exist the seeds of glass,

the raw materials from which

some faceless corporation will build

widows for houses and cars.

The sand will be gathered,

heated, transformed, forever changed,

until the footprints in the sand will become

a window from which future generations

will watch their children play

or their spouses come home from war

or sunsets or approaching storms.

The sand-made-window will offer

more readings and signs,

give more clues and provide

for more things to observe.

But it will also separate people,

throw up a shield between the inside and the out,

which has since sand was first transformed

to glass been the secret agenda

of all our windows.

RR Shea