A fragile thing I used to hold
began as something fresh and bold
then slipped away on shifting sand.
Perhaps my fingers, holding tight,
released their grip, so it took flight
to places it believed more grand.
An impasse I could never breach
has moved forever from my reach
the heart I once held in my hand.
© Susan Schoeffield
My take on the prompt at Poetic Asides to write a “handheld” poem.