So in the sand
i drew a picture
Faint but sure
small but so significant
For it was a picture of what was
Of what might be
of what there is no chance
of surviving....
The picture was of me...
Delicate, for I could be washed away
Depending on the moon I worship
Just as God's people may be smote
With the easiest movement of his hand
Delicate, weak, insignificant...
But everything to me.
As the tide came to wash me away,
I found myself humming the most innocent tune
One of past longings,
One of You
One of the image, being washed away
