House of Sand

I spun my house from sea sand 

and early morning mist,

wrapped it around me  like a foggy cloak 

to the joyous sussuration of the waves,

filled it with daybreak and evensong,

used beach glass for all the windows.

And there I lived, driftwood walls

open to the sky, a ceiling full 
of  stars and windsong,

 seabirds on the wing,

ever-changing clouds 
  and refracted  light.

Like the sand dollar, I wove my home

from the sand around me, used its grit

to polish the bones of my dwelling,

carried it with me when I left,

sea song swelling,

ebbing, flowing, 

ceaselessly and forever,

in my heart.