Here is where my feet carve the sand, like mountains that tear now from then as if
there was something shameful in being almost broken— unformed glass, tearing bit by bit, they don't know themselves what beauty contains.
And I say to myself,
not again, I won't.
Here, too, are the tears of things,
here no snowfall is enough to cover what time could not bear.
And I whisper, I wait but— who could save me, when we're all drowning
one way or another?
Decay happens daily, not just at the moments of dying. Myself, taut and pulled down, memory haunting
me unburied. What does it matter, if I rot above or below the Earth?
Here is where pavement contains me.
Nothing is lovely unless it is traitorous,
each new step comes from the pain of the one before.
I am to blame, too. I chose to fall
unwilling to land— even the dirt is a relic of a
So I say to myself: here is where my feet carve the sand.
Logan Ellis is a student at the University of Tulsa, Oklahoma.