by John Szabo
Blake discovered the world in a grain of sand,
and I am now among those grains,
tossed from a blossoming, pale, sweaty soft palm
into the darkening surf;
my last wishes.
I am dissolved within
the seaweed and misty, salty air,
deep within a child’s sandcastle
slowly eroded by the high tide;
particles of me mixed with coconut oil
rubbed into the brown skin of a Brazilian beauty,
more of me still at the bottom of a
black Labrador’s joyous day of digging.
Particles of me
follow the rhythm of the tides,
taking me on a journey
into the deep green and blue ocean currents
leaving behind the beach of my youth;
hoisted high atop my father’s shoulders
before being catapulted into the oncoming waves,
time after time,
until my fear turns into giddy anticipation.