A Man and Beetle at the Beach

Under the jagged edge of a broken sidewalk tile,

a tiny man sat lonely and cross-legged,

his hands stained with gooseberry juice,

his hair a tangle of wind and dirt.

 He moved with the patience of moss,

lifting grains of sand as if they were mountains.

A beetle paused beside him,

its antennae trembling with curiosity.

 He looked up at the sky’s vastness,

its weight pressing into his chest,

and wondered if the sun knew

what it meant to feel so small.