The sand blew the dreaming fellow to the sea

He dreamed. what is it to grow old. is it to
feel each limb
fail and fray, to breathe, then fade in moments,
to lay still
by the cloud coast sea. …he walked the sandy
shore, footprints in
the smell of soil, he fled the sleeper’s eye; how

The night air grew lonely, immured moonlight
and weary pain;
inches wrenched, weakly strung together- sand
blowing, steps like
a hollow ghost, climbing up like rain; his every
function now less exact. …
he wept, to remember his memories of the past.


Copyright © 07/30/2016 lance sheridan®