shooting stars

stuck & tore on the island,
your feet have betrayed you
you feel they sink further
& further into the sand-mud-water

the wistful waves rush through
the soul, you have the stars
stuck between your fingers –
can't they let you be?

but they have fallen,
slipped through the sky
the gleaming of the shooting
star slither through your fingers,

don't the clouds that run
across the sky question it?

wonder how the particles
collect & burst at the
precise moment that

the specks in the sand
see the star brush the
soul like the way that

the sand sweep your feet –
can they live with the deceit ?