11 Gathering grains of sand with sun-stained back, spine sliding, inclining down the shore—in my nail beds; I build a castle with towers and terraces, flags and front doors thrown wide. Seaside, it stands, grandly surveying the leaving-boats at the quay, screened by palm leaves while Solia plastic spoons sculpt sandy sides, till symmetry makes my placid sanctuary. But I cannot keep the seeping waves from sweeping up the beach , shaking non-rock floor . Rains fall and floods rise , spilling silt from the deep into my castle on the hill — my house on the sand . The remains sift and sink through my fingers , washing grains away , sloshing clay fortitudes . . . and I’m left struggling to save the castle c r u m b l i n g . CASTLE CRUMBLING Emily Vest
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