A Spanish ocean

glistens beside the hot sand

of a lonely beach…

waves lick the shore

with practiced ease.

The sun is a golden orb

raised far above

the mortal cares

of this solitary stretch of land.

I lift with care

a grain of sand,

my sole concern

to count them all…

one

by one.

They glitter in the palm of my hand,

as I hold them aloft

like tiny stars…

yet one

by one

they will be extinguished

when I lay them

with their siblings.

So was your heart,

beside the salt and foam

of a Spanish sea….

raising each tiny aspect

of our affair,

as though it was your job

to count each one…

so that they gleamed conspicuously

and it was also

your duty

to lay them to rest

beside the sighing ocean,

where I sit.

Alone,

counting sand.