Family of Sand

Like tender palms, they stroke me.

Cold and gray,

And ancient as the turbid, heaving froth,

Relentlessly churning.

Such violence!

What a turbulent, agitated residence

For such tranquil, docile palms.

They lie in silence and stillness.

Barely glittering as the pale light shifts.

I know each individual to be inherently irregular,

Yet all appear inexplicably uniform.

For there is only one legion

One family

Of sand.