Lost in the Sand

July 2, 2008
I go down
to the beach
squishing the sand beneath my
tired toes.

Mosquitoes cloud the humid air,
gathering in swarms near
the fetid water,
drawn by the stench
and safety of
standing water.

I sit carefully on the
sifting surface,
making sure not to
rest on a crowbar,
fishing lure,
or beer bottle.

Men with metal detectors
swamp the previously
underwater terrain,
hoping for an epiphany in the
form of an anchor,
a broken camera,
or a key.

I watch them desecrate
what used to be my
my secure lake,
strong and

They all say they need
tokens of the lake that
used to be,
to help it live on in
their memories.

I know that I need no material
object to capture my
for no mere thing can
encompass my

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