The longer I stay the less I feel
the specific
boundaries of flesh
The way the insects move
beside me is how compatible we are
The difference is the body
The edges of which
must finally dissolve and leave me
my insect
soul
my conscience
of stone
It is enough
the heron skates over the pale platform of herself
For months I have been losing a large part
of what I thought it was
to be
in the world
The wings of the terns as they fly towards me
are eager as knives
My heart fills more easily
with many small things
It’s possible to say my heart is full
just seeing the still breasts of the gulls
drawn downwards into perpetual columns
on the wet sands