Punta Del Este,Uruguay

To reach,white fingers scream infantile
The grasp of gray fingers mute
Not holding,waiting…stoic digits teach man
To clench,a chance to hold nothing
Relax and so much passes through

Light of a new day makes its rounds
Breath of the ancients speak words of desire
Fine earth travels on phrases shouted
Accents of brine change the path of a journey
Man himself has come and gone
From the palm of others to places unknown

And as I stand the water surrounds me
Wanting to hold what I can not have
Seeing only what I share not with the others
White knuckles burn blue nails together
I wish to extort my hand open wide
Is an opposable thumb a license to use it?

My eyes caress the concrete tips
I admire their will not to close and crush
The ideal I’ve placed in the swirling sand;

To reach and not to possess…

To wait and not to expect…

To touch and not to demand…

To dream and never hang on.