A. Space
I've sailed down the river, peeping under the skirt of concrete-built highways, the mobility of post-industrial modern life.
So I sail down the words, sipping imaginary wine with already-dead drunkards, and read about solitude and sea monsters.
I as well sail down through memory, piecing what's left of it, and imagine of a way to shorten the distances from heart to heart, island to island, and airport to airport.
B. Time
There was a little girl that walked before me, swaying her butt. I looked at her back pockets, tried to envision what she'd become in thirty years.
As time goes by.
There are bruises under my skin. I stare at the spread of purple and green, picture it to heal, and grow into a giant tree with leaves of toughness and arrogance, stems of courage, and fruits of love.
As time goes by.
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