The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

I close my eyes and listen to the waves.

I can't see the sky, the sea, or anything else in the darkness, but I can feel the gritty sand between my toes.

When the waves hit the sandbank and break, my slender wrists flail.

The waves wash away the little sand I hold in my hand.

I cry and hold on, but I get nothing back.

Not the waves. Not the sand. Not even my tears.

I ask through my stitched mouth.

-God. Can't you hold them tighter?

-Isn't it possible to save even just a handful more from those cruel waves?

-The ones I'm holding now, or maybe I am clutching.

-Is all this simply a dream within a dream?