Sandcastles

crumbling

                                               The moon,   
                                                                                     newly rising over the lake, 
    glimmers       faintly      
                                            on the gently      rippling     surface.
               Lamp  black  waters                                                      remain  blanketed, 
       shadowy depths                      above 
                                                   and below                     the water line.
Paused. 
                                                   Liquid ink,               waiting for a nib           
                 to dip in    and scrawl
                                                                its potential                     across a page               to weave messages 
                                   for those who might                       stumble 
           across this            whispered               language, 
                                                                                               intelligible only to those 
                                                         willing to listen.
 The moon                ascends                                     more steadily now 
                        and a ring of light                        draws around this potency 
                                               when the tipping of day 
                         drops into 
                                                                              the arriving of night. 
          A tantalising threshold                                                                    of change, 
                                                     of letting go the business of living 
                   to enter                                                     the dreamscape of rest.  
Crepuscular opportunity.
                                                            Building hopes                  into sandcastles, 
         starting with one turret                                              before  adding
                 further towers,                 ramparts,                                       and even a moat.      
                            A fragile edifice of desire                    that so quickly tumbles 
down             
                                                             into                a 
            disintegrated                                       pile 
                                        of         individual                    grains           of              hope.  
Restlessness,                                   
                            hovering like          a hungry cat          who prowls, 
                                                    watching          intently                          to catch its prey. 
          As the moon lifts                                              steadily 
                        future possibilities                     are still         to be         found                                                                               in        the          remains                of              the             crumbled                      fantasy. 
Pearls                           polished    and    cherished 
               to shine                  brightly                            with more certain promise                                        
       of what can                    
                                                 not only be imagined, 
                                                                                                    but also achieved.