sometime I was dreaming
only of his blue house
on the seashore

much to close to the wave
the winds blowing through origami walls
until the liquid air
irreversibly became the white paper
torn in letters without destination

frightened, the sea was wailing
through wet windowpanes
colorless algae

transparent boats trembled
through short rooms
scribbling unsteadily
beyond my own fear

sometime I sketched for him
a pastel house
on a island bleached by the sun

I still hear in my sleep
the salt letters
sinking


(Translated by Luminita Suse)