I draw your name with a thin twig in a sand,
Like touching the surface of meanings by breath.
Sand grains flows together like dots on a chequered sheet
And lay down one-line in letters as shibboleth.

In every sand letter of your name there’s me,
Untalented, hopeless, irrelevant, but so tender.
The stray wind will blow away your name from me
And I will stay alone on a sand, unshod and in surrender.