Page 4 - book 1-1
P. 4
one more breath
I ask myself what's the point
to insist on breathing every morning,
leave the cozy nest of a warm blue
and walk through the icy ashes of another day
like a fluorescent ginger line paper boat
drifting in the torrent of a vanilla foam,
I persist in following my road to Damascus
carrying a tired and hopeless insignia
in the melancholy whispered by the willows
one senses the longing for Calypso
mirage of beauty without parallel
in the Mediterranean filled with salt petals
