washed away

[thewatch]

helpless on the ever shifting shore
as it draws me down
below the cool grasses that
spreads beneath my feet,
the quiet darkness closes over me
sound taken from my lips
like surgeons plucking out
unnecessary bones before
I am sealed up.
no cry shall break the sand
smoothed by gentle touches
our places changing as often as the days
above, below, beneath
the gentle cradle of unending change
that grinds us into sandy shores
fitting whatever shape surrounds us
to take each piece to a new construction
crafted in the dirt
ready to break again.