To Be The Sand

Kneeling in wet sand

scooping up enough to fill my hands,
I press it down, envying
the way it wants to mold

to the moment surrounding it,

starting to unfold.

Yet also knowing-

That when the situation
has gone past its peak,
With one sweep or two
the sand remembers who
and what it was.
Easily finding its shape again.
Why can't I find a way to defend
my heart like that?
I have never held armour so strong.
Weak and defenseless,
owning no shield kept me back
for so long.