Searching the sands for something new,
Far ahead, shards of moonlight,
Through mist we view.
We see shapes of a future, carved in sand,
Formed like sculpture,
Though most unplanned.
Still, with the dawn, comes a shore washed clean.
A dispassionate tide,
Dissolving all our hearts had seen.
So our steps turn seaward, permitting no sign or trace,
A once fond world spins once again,
To a lonely, hollow foreboding space.
James Applin