Some nights, brief glimmers

roll over and reappear, displaying pink bellies of times,

Where the world walked hand in hand

by, in unblinking steps,

by step, feet sinking slowly like sand,

into a ground which is swallowing them whole.

And my fear of falling, letting the grains

suck in my feet like shackles, is all but forgotten

in the face of feeling something again,

for them.

In my dreams I crawl

through wreckage, and wrought iron fences,

where lie haggard beggars who beckon me to

save them.

But I only shake my head at their hands,

as mine glide through hair, tossed

in careless thoughts that cannot stand.