I silently sit here
Waiting to hear
Something new.
Near my left hand
(As if planned)
Rests three grains of sand
Alone.
One, the known,
The largest, the unknown,
And the third,
What I seek.
Tiny vibrations
From the feet tripping around me
Make the grains dance a bit
While I solemnly sit
As still as an unfallen tear.
To pick up this sand
To posses,
Would arrest
Their beings.
Yet the temptation
Caresses my fingertips.