Face the shoreline,
for the incoming tide
is bound to reach you
when your back is turned.
And what shall you do then
but panic at the prospect of the waves?
My footsteps will be washed away,
you think, all sadness and self-pity,
while terror grips you by the feet
as if planting you in the sand
like a skin-covered accident
waiting to happen.
Too late, you think,
as the wave collapses
leaving particles in its wake.
No, not too late,
but on time
as it is every time.
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