David DeSantis - A Trip

My feet in the sand.

The shoreline
Of a beach,
Glass bottles,
And rock worn
Edges.

Contemptuous gaze
And an air ward sigh.
My thoughts consumed
by
weekend recitations.

Such high hopes
This time.
Years of trying
And finally a get away.

New York City
and love.

Yet
one is attained,
The other lost.

Coarse sand grain fists
Become open palms,
As a smooth sea shell
Drops from my hand.

Head shaking desperation.

How easily
It slips away.

Copyright (c) David DeSantis

David DeSantis

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