is where I’ll return.
When I sit here
on this beach I
close my eyes,
picture my position
on the coastline;
see the whole country,
continents, and planet,
feel reassuringly small.
I remember the “sandcastles”
Anna and I built
on our day trip to Brighton,
how she didn’t care there were pebbles
and not sand
but how on the journey
I was so fearful
that she was going to cry
when we got there,
that she would only be happy
with sand
but she didn’t mind
that her “sandcastles”
didn’t stay
in the shape of the bucket;
she was perfectly happy to play
with pebbles
and call it a sandcastle
anyway.
Men Are Sandcastles
Men are sandcastles made out of pebbles
