MY HOME |
He walks along the beach
not bothering to roll his trousers.
As the water washes against his ankles,
he scoops up the wet sand
and lets it sift through his fingers.
In the same way,
he lets time slip away,
sometimes just in a steady stream,
sometimes in clumps and chunks.
the water washes away his footsteps
but it is no matter;
there are none to follow
and nothing to show he was there.