story
is just the skin. R. Wilson
what
are then the flesh and bones?
fishermen wake up with the sun
to throw their smudged traps
waiting for
a good catch, sunken treasures, sea beasts
eyes resting on the horizon
arms ready to show their strength
minds set to do logistics
magic of the expectation makes their job
quiet persistence againts deep waters
faith in barely visible
under my freckled, elastic skin
another networks spread
skeleton of meaning, muscles of courage
freedom streaming in veins
and all underneath
your magic power that
move me & stop me
built me & break me
pump me & release me
broaden me & narrow me
breathe in me & exhale me
feed me & void me
with fishermen´s persistence
with faith in the absent but implicit
