Tool in hand I connect
Through time the dots
Of events in space, of people’s faces,
My freckles and bruises. Still no trace
Of patterns, nor a hint of when
Or where the drawing will
Unveil the distinction between
Outside and inside. I am still
A messy maze, a vague outline, mostly void,
Quite pale indeed.

Breathing, eating, I grow
Three-dimensional, incorporate
Another atom, another building block,
Constructing slowly a sculpture of sand,
Willfully ignoring
Time and tide.