from my unpublished second collection
I gave up everything to live by the sea, to walk through the random tracks of seagulls and eat oranges from a bag, and to sit with the old men in the marina in the afternoons, and was glad in my solitude there and the wind: when I gathered hollyhocks in the breakwater to the south, I had no one to give them to but myself; and when a freak swell placed a dinghy neatly between two trees, the sky afterwards so cold and clear you'd swear it had been tattered like an old flag, the stars about to shine through, only the seagulls were there with me, dolls implanted with five or six behaviors somewhere between thought and instinct. A milk jug threaded by rope, from what was once a home-made buoy. Sunfish that saw without understanding and instantly forgot.
First published in Agni
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