1 PM

Translated by Rawley Grau

From the road high up in the hills, the sea in a thimble of bay. From the road on the low ground, the sea in boundless expanses. And we go there, all the way, to the very end of yearning. The sweet smell of the pine trees nets the blue as we pass through thick shadow to the edge of the world. We have taken from the house only what is most essential, to nourish the body, and now finally we are there, where nothing is lacking. Wide open eyes learn to look at the turbid world beneath the surface; sea urchins ornament the heel. The searing pain the sea dispatches into the depths, while the breath above the surface is the flash of a body that dwells elsewhere. Quiet grief at the sun’s departure, and the new day, exactly the same, entirely different. The old lady holds the tiny hand tight. She is a heavy hook, drawing to itself the body that has met the sea. On the slick stones the tired step falters, rocks like a boat above the undertow, and I feel my hand being squeezed. In an instant, I am strong. In an instant, I am me. Alive like the sea. Terribly free and alone, it carries its waves far into the distance, and somewhere beyond, across the horizon, turns back towards the shore, with the disdain of a victor who watches as his past lags behind him.


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