Children of Tides

Voice escapes like
sand
between my fingers.
Although its
pale particles
linger,

they are only
children in body,
matured before

their time,
watching their
teachers wash away between

my toes.

And I have
grown from
the epitome of passion into
a world forged by
masochists,
rising to
the challenges set by
old, sadistic tides.

I’ve stood in
quicksand so
long I’ve

forgotten
to balance upon
non-seismic surfaces, using
salt water tourniquets to staunch
my understanding
of balance from

bleeding
out.

My place lays
at the mouth of
rivers,

sunrise shivers
at my back entering
my final scripted act,

a small
monologue of shipwrecked
arithmetic becoming more than

simple math.

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