SEA

At night soaking rain,
you can picture the house a shipwreck
soon uprooted and pulled away, listing and flooding
until it sinks
How lonely we are in this house!
Each one shrouded in a blanket
Each one alone with dreams devoid of people,
in ice wastelands or burning fields, just oneself
and the overgrown, eccentric animals.
You can measure the distances between the sleeping bodies,
between the breaths, you can hear
the heart of the ship gasping like a defective regulator
creaking and diving
as if we won’t get up tomorrow, as always, four,
stretching our wings in the space of the room, as if
we won’t fold them deep into the sleeves
of our wetsuits, as if we won’t fill
the air tanks, before we turn over each other
and go out, one by one, as if there is a sea waiting for us
and not these warped puddles of water.

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