MY MAN
To Bogomil Gjuzel
Tired
he moves on the deck of the apartment
strains along full horizons
land contours
his ship suddenly sways
strikes with his prow in underwater thoughts
the sea-mare enters abruptly
I’m sitting opposite the event
and I get old in seconds
ostensibly monitoring marine diseases
when in fact I’m waiting for the tide before
my tongue turns into
hanging rope