Sand

Small piles of sand.

Mold you, then dismantle.

I’m the master of this tiny still universe,

malleable like our memories.

 

Rock above and below,

an ancient platform for our kind.

I can still touch you there-

under a shadow, and time can’t find us.

Talk of death, it can’t reach us.

 

Alas, the oppressive fucking sun awaits.