Putting things in place

that sand castle life

and I can see the waves

coming in,

but there is no time,

no escape from the life

of a beach dweller

on the edge

of the cosmic sea.


I hold hope

in my hands

like driftwood,

hoping it will bear me up

in the storm.

Take one piece,

find some fibrous vegetation

and lash another,

to another

and save us all.


Rain will come

and wash away

all our fortifications

and the wind

will score our names

off of our gravestones.

Still we rise

to face the day

in defiance,

so strange,

so touching,

so human.


What is it

inside us

that sparks divinity?

What evolutionary purpose

is our belief?

It doesn’t seem

to be caused

by religion,

more deeply seeded

than our culture

and our fear.


Why are we capable of awe?

Why can we stand against the storm?

Why can we look at the sky

and say “Let’s go up there.”

and get there

and want to go further?


Everything we have

is just sandcastles.

So finite,

so temporary,

so fragile.

Yet we stand

in the face of things

we don’t even comprehend,

as if we belong there,

as if it is our purpose.


Maybe it is.


































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