Between the pages in these drawers
lies sprinkled sand from distant shores
where once I lay and felt the sun, heard
laughter, and saw children run. There in
the sand I curled my toes, and when I rose,
some came with me.
Please, take my hand. Let's walk along
the beach while high in the sky, jets chalk
white lines beyond our reach that drift away and
fly like sprinkled sand. Our feet of clay make
footprints that we see turn wet as water fills
them disappearing, yet bare feet and I return
from distant shores to dry.
And in between my finger goes, and finds
the sand there with the toes, brought from
unforgotten ages, sprinkled sand that
spots these pages....