Words

Words lay beneath my feet like silver coins.

Metal detector in hand, I rip through the sand like a menace

searching for sharp beats to speed up like a broken metronome.

There must be some configuration of words that could make it all stop.

There must be some configuration of words to bring them back.

There must be some configuration of words to make it all better.

To end the darkness. To start again. To reach the light. 

Where, I don't know. But somewhere. 

And so I press on,

as waves wash away the prints behind me.