Fist of Sand

Grains engraved with “I love you,”
“hold me close,”
and “love is true,”
lie open in his calloused palm.
Thousands upon thousands
rest, on top of each other,
his hand still and calm.
My name, etched onto the back
of each and every little
grain of sand;
perfect script, without a flaw
make me feel equally small.
His hand shudders, some fall off,
it starts to close and hope is lost.
“Baby” is lost,
“you’re mine” is too,
but in the middle lies “I love you.”
They tumble down
and hit the floor
“perfect girl”
and “I adore.”
When it’s closed, one remains
of thousands and thousands of tiny grains.
All alone, but that’s nothing new,
On the back is my name,
the front,
“I love you.”