(inspired by A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe)

Sand spills out,
time running through
my fingers, collecting
at my feet.

As a child,
I would use all my time at the beach
with my feet in the ground,
letting the Atlantic current
bury me deeper,
with every incoming tide.

Toes. Gone.
Ankles. Gone.
Legs. Gone.

I'd imagine the water as hourglass,
and my eyes always sinking,
the horizon of sky and ocean
becoming all that I could ever see,
until there would be nothing left
and I would be gone, too,
buried and forgotten.

I'd lift my feet,
reappearing as magician,
and stand again, a testament
to survival in the face
of nature's unrelenting motion.

Now, I know it is not water
but golden sand, the kind
you can't ever hold for long,
for time remains elusive and slippery,
the dream within the dream,
but whose single grain is all you need
to remain standing in the tides
as the moon does her bidding,
relentless and loving,
each lap of water another kiss
of mortality.

--Kevin Hodgson, for GloPoWriMo 2017

Sand Spills Out

by dogtrax


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