caressing, receding,
caressing, receding,
caressing, receding.
Hesitantly, they loved the sands,
pushing forward, pulling back,
pushing forward, pulling back,
pushing forward, pulling back.
They could never be sure or strong like the
grounded,
towering
earth,
so they ventured forward,
eagerly,
admiringly,
enviously.
I will be Accomplished,
I will be Accomplished,
I will be Accomplished.
The earth did not move.
What will you accomplish?
They wavered.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
They retreated,
meekly,
humbled by the
rough sands and
smooth stones and
brittle leaves.
The short sat, as
imperial and constant
as ever,
but the waves shifted restlessly,
casting themselves
against the shore's sides.
As it stretched
above
the
clouds,
the earth did not see
how the tossing waves
carved its sides
into
dust.
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