Zwitterion

Grains of Sand.

Grains of sand,

when winds came home,

and struck me on

my face and brow,

I did not know

were particles

of some distant

wreckages.

Then once when I

was breaking down,

and blowing came

the wind again,

kneeling down

I cupped the sands,

and kissed them in

my shaking hands,

for I knew

there was in them,

a bit of me

that had in time,

withered away.