THROUGH MY FINGERS I’M SIEVING SAND-A CONGLOMERATION OF THE EARTH’S DANDRUFF THAT BECOMES HOMOGENOUS BY ITS QUANTITY.  I WORRY ABOUT THE JEALOUSY OF SAND.  IF THE BEACH WERE ONLY MADE UP OF PRETTY PERFECT GRAINS THERE WOULD BE NO BEACH AT ALL, JUST A HANDFUL OF BEAUTIFUL, SMART, BETTER-THAN-YOU PEBBLES.  THERE WOULD BE NO WHERE TO BURY MY DRUNK UNCLE AND NO EXPANSE FOR CONSTRUCTING SANDCASTLES OR EVEN A PLACE TO SIT AND LOOK AT THE OCEAN THAT IS VASTLY GRANDER AND MORE INFLUENTIAL THAN MYSELF.