this was all underwater,
this stretch of fields
was home to
fishes, shells and crabs
not dreaming of trains
carrying dreamers glued
to windows across the oceans
of wheat.
this drained sea-bottom
is endlessly the same
north and south
east and west,
gives me nothing
to go by, doesn't
translate into borders
or countries or allegiances,
it teases, rightfully,
until, a few hundred meters
down the railway line from
kelebia, two words sprayed
on the wall of a crumbling
railroad house sail slowly
in and out of my view,
fitting easily into the
landscape of stray poppies
as we dock into kelebija:
VOLIM TE.
and then i know
exactly where i am
and what i am doing.
like a fish in the water.
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