The Breathing Space

The person who's lying on his back under the tall trees

is likewise up there inside them. He's streaming out into large number of twigs,

influencing forward and backward,

sitting in an ejector seat that gives up in sluggish movement.

The person who's remaining somewhere near the docks squints at the water.

The docks age quicker than individuals.

They have silver-dark timber and stones in their stomach.

The glaring light pounds as far as possible in.

The person who's voyaging the entire day in an open boat

over the sparkling straights

will nod off finally inside a blue light

while the islands slither like immense moths over the glass.