Публикувано от: bogpan | октомври 17, 2018



I won’t come back
into that autumn.
With you too.
The homes in gold are pulsating
on the horizon and the sea
(in Thessaloniki the oranges even
are pulsating).
The sea?
What about it?
Everything about it has been written and
nobody has the words
to split up this what’s in it
(by the sea).
I’m sitting ahead of the long path and
I do understand.

A man is not setting boats
of paper, but giving back to water.
Water again.


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