“Thus, by tracking our foot-prints in the sand, we track our own nature in its wayward course, and steal a glance upon it, when it never dreams of being so observed. Such glances always make us wiser.”
—Nathaniel Hawthorne

The sun stopped shining
some time ago.

The winds have blown
the palms away.

I seem to recall,
before these rising tides,

there were footprints
right beside me,

right here along the strand.
I find it difficult to know

if the one who left them
had been a one that walked
or been a one that ran.

They’re always over soon,
these rising tides.

And then tomorrow
becomes a thing a century old.

Tomorrows and tides,
returning ever as reminders

of that which what it is
and that which what it is not.

Footprints in the sand.
Sand so soft and silent.

The tides come in.
The tides go out again.

Sand so smooth and silent.
Difficult to hold for long.