The beach

Happiness in my hand,
That elusive substance
Runs swift like sand
Gently blowing out
To sea. Under my feet
- I try to reach,
But the waves deplete
My strength and I am
Sunk in the substance:
Temporaryism, old friend.
Mutability, munificent
In its caress, its press
Against my skin,
Its insistence on
Sinking in
And drowning out
The hollows of sound.
But I can rise,
With strength abound,
Found on some coast
With happiness stuck
Between my toes
And the water drying
While I roast.