Sandships

Sand

We play the constant banging of the tether,
The grinding of the chain around the post,
Fuel sand ships in a chain-link summer where
Our winds are freer dreams along the coast.

But statues made of sand are all we make,
To bend in to the solitude of earth,
With careful hours spent mastering each shape,
Sea slamming in the moment of our birth.

Takes away the labor of the first dream,
We soon forget our skill to build a wall,
When at last the tide will cease it's steam,
We wonder why we ever came at all.

Turn loose the sand from pockets inside out,
The trailing grains, the sheltered wave of doubt.