Sand

As life falls from my fingers
like sand from my palms
I wait to retrieve the sand 
once again. To lay in it
and bask in its warmth.
To be able to hold it.
To be able to sit and 
stare at it. To be able
to laugh at it or cry in
it. To be able to watch it
crumble. To maybe
mold it into sandcastles.
To watch it get washed
away in waves and then
be brought back once again.
Something as simple as
sand is all I want back.
I want to be able to hold it
and say it's mine. I want to
be able to say that I can
build clouds, flowers, trees,
mountains, anything I want out
of it. I don't want it to slip away.