There is something incomprehensible <br />about sitting at a desk <br />after a week long, seven day <br />sojourn into paradise. <br />The skin on the back of your fingers <br />looks younger—the color of acorns, <br />and your hair still contains <br />fine grains of sand. <br />Sunlight illuminates the pages in front of you <br />as the wind shuffles from page to page <br />finally arriving at one chaptered “Nostalgia”. <br />You can feel you really aren’t so much <br />at your desk at all, but a foreign land <br />where it is always one slow, hot summer.<br /><br />Sebastian Sandok<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/between-glades/
