Lost

Grass or hair

Very close

Sickle-covered hands

Cut by the clouds of the decks

Sailors’ souls or sailors’ corpses

In the ocean of time

In the ocean of the soul

A void stirred by the storm

A void moved by the wind

Catch me

Raw are matches

Keep me warm

Hands are broken

Anchors melted into cotton candy.

Sails soak up the screams and become heavy as metal

No one remembers but the seagulls

Death by ship

A ship that tasted death

No one knows where the corpses go

Ice beneath the feet of slipping death

Cast-iron milk of tastes and sunken eyes of noses

Nobody knows how to compose a proper serenade

Nobody knows how to die with rhyme

Nobody writes dead poetry

Nobody writes poetry for dead people

Nobody knows how to write and read

Strange seagulls look everywhere with their beaks