Water rises stirred with
excitement, sensitive, selfish.
We don’t have to be fish
to understand those who have no sense
or intent to check their heritage.
The ethno-genesis of the ocean.
Of the rain.
We will suck it like babies, gulp each drop
of vague nursing nature,
dry springs will suddenly rise
and flood the subconscious, gushing
it is not just water rushing
but also an omen.
If we are to be betrayed one day
to be drowned in high-pitched vowels
that afterwards will flow away to alien planets
it will be hopeless, almost useless
to prevent them in their intention:
the water does not know when it is enough.