The old landie is playing rough and tumble
With the dunes.
As we play safe inside,
Dancing their tune.
They pull, we speed, we’re free.
Another game they call
To the fun in our brains and in our veins.
But they’re too quick, too light, too bright.
They turn around, their arms locks ours.
And we’re down.
They laugh.
The sand is quick.
Sinking hearts and sinking fast.
If she goes, we’ll lose
Everything.
Rope and anchor and Capstan winch.
Screw boy screw. Screw it in.
As I watch the car goes down.
But the anchor’s now in solid ground.
Is this how we should be when depression strikes?
To always carry our own anchor?
For the ground that all things pass?
Or the ground of love and self-acceptance?
You haven’t heard the last from us, the sand dunes call.
I’m sure we haven’t.

Photo by Melanie Wupperman from Pexels.