I have the stretching memory Of a sandbank on the horizon Was it I Or another who sailed across the Oceans? I’ve lost the plot To my own story. My skin is scaly from so much salt And my voice is cracking But I pretend To stay afloat.

Seventy degrees on the tarmac And just about 35 degrees inside these walls I closed the shutters. How many empty pools in fancy neighborhoods ? Sixty kilometres to the beach A road flanked by trees And two benches in the sun. Who stole the shade from my city ?

I heard the sound of water running off concrete And took it for a spring Took it for a brook I would have had to climb Seek Chase and stumble for Fall onto the sweet wet grass. I picked myself up from the pavement, My bones broken, my dream unscathed.

I want the fridge, full, I want the sea, I want the mountains, I want peace I want trees, breezes, birds, I want a view, the horizon The sun, I want outings, I want friendships I want those discoveries You keep to yourself I want new socks Waterproof shoes Ironed sheets And to be able to answer “I’m fine” I want to ...

I saw him Live, I saw that man live. In the hand he had just rinsed He held a brown plastic comb. He placed his right hand on his hair And started combing it carefully One side, then the other. He left the comb on his rug, And smoothed his hair. He sat there all day, on the pavement He ...