bright tomorrow

 

We'll build sand castles and call them our little magic town

and patch shells on the grainy walls

(of our shanty castles)

and say, to passers-by,

"oh, those are the windows"

Confused, they'll walk on

and find us silly

in our fantasies;

unfitting, in a world of concrete

we'll shrug our shoulders and build on

(there's still so much sand -

we can build an empire!)

but wall upon wall

we lose our way

within our city of castles

and soon we leave, too.

it's cold -

what good are sand walls

against the evening wind?

abandoned, our little town of magic castles

(with empty windows)

is swept by the evening tide

and fades

in the salty apocalypse

of the waning sandpatch