OK, THE LOOK IN THE EYES
The Mediterranean is the mother to the rest of
the natural world : the soft shores of wandering
all seem to end here. Wrapped mornings of water,
and the long afternoons of sun and decay. All these
ruins are growing inside me - tourists may come,
but no one can stay. I want your fleeting body with
me here. We can tender what we can touch.
Some broken Jesus again, at the end of the world.