Mare Somniorum

Sand,
the finest sand
running
through my fingers. 

A clenched fist
trying in vain
to hold
back. 

But the sand runs on. 

My grip thigtens
only forcing the sand out faster. 

But even from a loose grip
the sand still runs much to fast.

And the sand is eventually
followed
by tears.

Håvard, I hope you read this sometime. It’s been too long, I hope you’re doing well.