Zywa Lost in language

He drove me to the sea
I make small steps
barefoot

Barefoot steps in the cold
sand, I do my best
I don't lie down

The toes of my feet
comes towards me
Next to his steps

We have done this
before, nothing wrong
The wind was always blowing

salt into my hair
foam into my words
playing hide and seek

inside my head, and the seagulls
squawk shrilly through it
I get lost in language

differences and bad
connections, and still
he does not notice

Poem 3979
Amsterdam, 2021-10-04

Collection: On living on [1] 
Keyword: Brain 
Dedicated to: Maria Godschalk 
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