It is impossible to enter the sea
when dead men walk on water
writing summons,
invitations and love letters.

Those who thrive on salt air,
and peel their notebooks
like oranges in March,
enter in a violent way.

Thoughts shift
like a river that changed its course
after a giant earthquake.
There’s no one to talk or listen
even the air is hydrophobic.

Copyright© 2006, Debashish Haar