I.
Holding my breath,
as if for the first time,
I enter the tired mass of Baltic.
Stray seagulls stare at me
with their grey eyes,
wish I was smaller.
The deeper I go,
the heavier each step,
the colder it gets.
II.
I remember when the beach behind
was amber, now it’s all rocks,
a handful of dead shells.
The birds cry over the concrete
seawall, so it seems, but no,
they don’t laugh either.
There is nothing around anymore
but the clouds’ reflection, salt,
and sticky algae.
III.
Can’t see no sun,
no wonder I seek mist
wherever go—
knowing what’s at the horizon,
unguarded, is much
to bear.
Maybe it won’t go
as badly
this time around.
It’s so warm at once.
Did I just say all that?
Time to go, my gulls.
IV.
I never learnt to swim,
neither this city nor its waters.
A seaplane, not even a boat,
I take wing again, flap off.
By the time the skin’s dry,
this land will be invisible
beneath the hungry clouds,
no one to notice the barricades
have been submerged.
Sleep well,
it’s all I ask—
you need it.
2019