by Megan M. Garr

I am kneeling
on a beach I
have never
seen and cannot
Is every
as surprised
as this,
to find something.
Push in,
push in,
my hands
deepen in
the sand. It is warm,
it has
been holding
this in for
ever—I imagine
I am the first
to walk here.
It doesn’t
that I’m wrong.
Right now,
it is possible to stay.
In time,
those who live here
will notice
the shape left,
measure the extent,
cast its diameters.