wast sea and all its longing

I dreamt of having been born close to the sea.
in a small house
away from it all:
from the noise that comes with the city
from the flickering false lights that grab my attention
from 2.50€ sandwicesh,
from smoke and drugs …
I wanted to write a poem about sea.
I asked its permission. it declined.
of course it did.
I knew nothing of it and it knew nothing of me.

maybe in other forms of existence I was in its womb,
but that was then,
now I can only meet it as a son who comes home to meet its old mother,
a stray dog coming home to its once-has-been owner,
and I deserve its kick,
I deserve the sad wrinkled look for missing for too long,
I deserve the closed door.

I wanted to explain how much I am in love it,
but nothing I could come up with had any value,
not to me,
so it couldn’t have any meaning for it.

“I love you.”

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