Sand Castles
When I was young I drew
sculptures on the beach,
holding tight against reckoning
waves,
In bold ignorance of all to come.
They stood, loom weaving a
hope some day they would
come true:
The fantastic scenes of monsters
slain under bed clothes before
frights could reach me
sleeping sound,
Of lovers conquering the grand
canyons that tore them asunder,
heedless the cost in gold,
in bloody bruise.
****
They wash away.
Like hearts, broken each
morning in screen glass.
They wash away.
Like loving words, silenced
by callous hallway echoes.
They wash away.
