the beach, the wind

the beach, the wind 

and I’m hunched over
trying to wipe a grain
from my eye
weeping, weeping
its own good sense
to wash out the offender
can’t see, too bright
the sun

a misery speck
its very own kind
grain now granule
now pebble
as stinging grows

windbreaker pulled high
against the stiff wind
I stumble to the car    
spill my pack, sifting
its contents   
palm the small bottle
solace and soothe
to flush out the sand