What if sand is another form of the verb sin?
As in Forgive all my sand, all this sand appears
whenever he is near. And when I’m not with him,
sometimes a veritable beach of white sand, pink sand,
black sand appears at the edges of the highway, in hotel
lobbies, and sometimes even on diner booths. But now
it’s a beach, dotted with bright umbrellas, and look—
someone left a pink-striped towel. You know
how it is—you’re a good girl. You wore sunscreen even
on cloudy days in Sand City. And no matter how you shake
and brush it off, what never fails to stick is sand. Look:
I found a whole sin dollar. I found a fiddler crab with one
good claw. She waves and waves it, shielding herself
from the white heat and all the pop and crackle of this sin.