The very same
by which we sow
our seeds
is that by which
we reap their sweet
and bitter fruits.
The same by which
we grasp at the
ever elusive
grains of truth.

The All of it,
however, slips
right through
the trembling
fingers on our
calloused
hands.

How many
pieces of it
are there for
our picking?
Just about
as many as
we make of it..
from its very
beginning
to our very
end.

Either as few
as there are
drops of water
to be found
in arid lands..
or else as numerous
as there are grains
contained in dunes
of desert sand.