I May be a Mass of Glass

I may be a mess of broken glass
Sifting, scraping and sad; and
Between wounded and trembling hands clasped

Or maybe I may be heap of sand, amassed
Shifting and spreading over self
My fickle form merely fleeting when grasped

But most terrifyingly...

I may be a mass of icy clear glass
With my simple see-through nothing
Naked, and so easily passed!