Somewhere --
on a distant seashore
scattered among the shells
and seaweed
and footprints
and abandoned thatched-roof huts
lies a memory.
Demolished,
Like a sandcastle
awaiting the undulating waves
for it's complete destruction.
Meanwhile, in a world of ones and zeroes,
video calls, and shifting deadlines
grains of sand
continue
to
be
discovered --
irritating
remnants
unearthed
continually.
The oyster's nacre does not soothe --
no pearl is formed.
The tiny grains
continue their death
by a thousand cuts.