A happy-looking man who
keeps throwing stones to
a murky horizon far far away
buried in a deep deep fog.
The happier-looking man who
Is gazing at the dim fluttering of
a seagull-like bird in a thick thick mist.
As if worshipping the horizon,
as if waiting for the fog to be lifted,
a happy rock with a look of
throwing stones into the sea water.
A very very old rock.
From my warm cheap motel room,
I am staring at the cold priceless winter sea.
The frozen horizon
The clockwork wave
The chilly water like a woman turning her back to me
The beach void of bikinis
What is my mind scouring the vast sea for?
I would rather to become
an animal that prints its desperate paws
on the fresh snow in the mountain.
I could plunge into that cold-blooded sea
and beg for life.
Just like a captain on a placid ocean
boasting that he would die with his ship,
I am gazing at the drawing
that imprisons the winter sea.