Standing, still, and br with a handful of dry sand br I close my fingers tightly, br tightly round the yielding br granules held vice like in my hand br and tightening to stop the br mass escape of so many br miniscule grains br through gaps in ringed fingers. br The harder I grasp the more br they find release br and signify the passing of time, br of times lost in passing br and as my tears fall, br fall onto my hands br each dropp mingles with the sand br the sands of times lost br and make them stick, br sticking to my hand br not lost but sand adhering br as alone I stand br even though their appointed time br is now past. br Would it have been better br if without the tears br they had been freed br out of my reach and grasp br without the fetters of warm liquid br tears which adhere them br to these hands br until returning to the sea br they are washed and cleansed from me.