gaolbreaker’s dream

In order to keep alive, I would go to the port early in the morning to the pescatoria where the fisherman always throw from their boats a few fish caught from the night before. All beggars are familiar with this practice.

Standing up or laying among the rocks or sitting on them at the eastern tip of the island, facing the mainland, I was the first man lit up and warmed by the first ray, which itself was the first manifestation of life.

Cascading light
Across the bay
In an alcove
I rest my face
Respite in the shadow that laid its peace
Eyes half open
You found me
Rough is sand upon my nape
Drop your latties on my face
Hidden key
Hidden key
Hidden key