Flipflops In the Sand

Walk with me don’t say a word walk in these footprints until you feel my wobbly heartbeat Flip flop tracks in the sand I see yours ahead, nearly washed away I am just a bit late Hold my empty hand these fingers that search for your face in the mist of nightdreams This fraying thread that joins such a poignant catastrophe glimmers and shivers flickers and fades with anticipation that possibly someday may come My needs are slight your offerings less Days become formless nights without substance . . . washing away.