Along The ShoreIssue: Section:
Once an ornate castle,
now dividends of a fallen dynasty.
Back into the sea,
shoveled up by a current much stronger than you or me.
With patience, as the years pass,
castles are not so intricate.
Expected, if there are willing players,
to drip smoothly onto the compact moist miniscule rocks
(yet it seems as if sand is its own entity, a naked eye cannot discern the quartz from the feldspar),
teaching a small one the perfect way your pinky releases the last sandfall.
How your thumb moves ever so carefully at the top,
other fingers stuttering
then still- -
the movement of the entire hand a delicate dance.
But she’ll do it her way,
to us experienced ones.
Oh what a mess her legs have become,
soiled in the tiny pools of pebbles;
Clay-clad, muddy exterior.
But how she laughs.
For that smile
I will let her wiggle her hand too fast,
undoing the drip in haste,
splattering the means all along herself in a glee I have since forgotten.
Let the castle live for the span it’s meant.
We know the tide always gets it.
She may not
she’s living in a land currentless,
Oh, what it feels to float.