The Grip of Time

Barefoot on the shore, the sand shifts like breath,

as I feel it slip through my toes, quiet as death.

Waves pulling at ankles, a soft, steady tease,

reminding of moments that come and then cease.

Each grain tells a story, but drifts from my hand,

something so grounding, yet never can stand.

The warmth of the sun, and the sea's gentle sigh,

a lesson in loss, as the tides whisper by.