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Sandsnarl by Jon Stone


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The Thulr of Sand, Whose Mouth Hovers Eternally Above a Cup of Mead, Orates the Beginnings of the Age of Sand

 Before there was a now, there was a jar.
The jar contained a sandstorm, an infinitude of sand
that twined and tore, intensely muscular
and infinitely busy in the enterprise of sand.

 It lingered in a storeroom, on a lip
of shelf behind some milk crates, a small and secret thing,
till someone missed their step or lost their grip,
delivering a tremor that impelled a teetering. […]”

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