WATER COVER
A bed-cover of water,
a pillow of waves.
The mermaid beneath sighs
and provokes the sailors.
The sea bottom remained airless
at the reach of his palm.
The thought is a motorboat that glides
across its watery surface of the brain.
It’s an oceanographer, a Cousteau
seeking for Calypso.
Joseph is in Venice,
but didn’t deserve such neighbourhood.
Perhaps at sea, buried
in a translucent shroud.
But not in a mass grave
undermined by chthonic currents
where the bodies end
like pickles in a jar.
