Clinging Grain

Mud wedges itself

between my boot’s cracked sole,

stubborn, like some small thing

refusing to let go.

I scrape, stomp, and shake—

a futile ritual.

Each step drags gritty weight,

a whisper of storm still clinging.

Not the soft warm sand

I remember from brighter days,

but thick, heavy, reluctant,

like time holding a debt,

slipping slow but sure,

sinking in deep,

unchanging, uncompromising.