Zywa
In the reeds
In the morning, barefoot
over dewy wet jetty planks
to the moss-green cobblestone shore
fishing birds
wind between my legs
no man to see
take a bag of food
from the box, carefully
close the cover again
the hatch to stone, steel and waste
the motorized world
full of problems
Only the two of us
in the little boatshelterhouse
a holiday paradise time long
|