on all i have to give

i know i got what can please my taste

i have with me the heap

the heap of sand that is on my hands

i plan to get that sand to the dock

all of it

i am very far from it

i know i must have the sand with me to give it to the dock

i start my voyage towards the dock

trails of hard rocks go through my feet

i plan to get away from the rocks and keep my sand

but the rocks keep coming

the weightlessness of the heap makes it move sand around

a little bit

i will not let it seep from the space

between my fingers

like it is a liquid wanting to set free

i must have all of the sand with me

to the dock i go

to the rocks they want to make me trip

and to the luck the sand has to be that the air

does not challenge

but here comes the sand that leaves

the sand is coming away from my cupped hands

falling to my shoes where i cannot pick it up

the dock is coming closer

the rocks take my sand by getting on my feet

i now have lesser sand

the dock is almost there

the top of the heap is knocked out

gone

and here is the dock i come to

with nothing but about a few dismal grains

i am certain i did have it in my hands

i had a big heap and where did it go

to the rocks

the rocks are the only thing that kept that heap

from being so still

pity