I remember you, curls blonde, toes curled, crouched on sun-baked sand
Small fingers, not yet three, gently lifting little grains, watching them fall again
Nose pressed close, blue-gaze fixed, tongue tip on salted-lip, sand ingrained in finger tips
You counted the grains one, two, three, how could you know it would take eternity
To know every stone’s story that water had spun, you counted on, diligent one
Til you rubbed sleepy sea-gaze with sand-grained hand and tears washed you to sleep.
“Brief: 366/2020 project, prompt ‘Grain’