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Felt all at sea,
Moving as through water
over you.
’No day without the line’-
Why would you know that?
I take a clean sheet,
Pick up a pencil,
Start sketching
First – the silence,
then –
your drumming
A tense something fills the house,
It finds its way through my lungs,
Leaving them sunburnt.
You wink at me with the stars,
You open the windows – the pines,
surround my dark,
The wood catches the frequent vibration
Of your steps in-front.
The hours and days for both of us
Wrap and turn into unanticipated new life.
In the blue hour of maritime,
The witnesses tiptoe around
As though around an inexploaded bomb.
Every you in my memory
Feels like a drum stroke
In this silent maritime autumn.