Maybe the First Thing We See

The outlines of the port collapse
into the rules of perspective.
Euphoria flies through the air —
the loud cries of seagulls.
Hello! Ahoj!
We are setting sail.
Let’s drive!

I stand on the foredeck.
We are setting sail.
I’m blacking out the blackmail —
the warrior is the past.
In my thoughts — one woman with my face
stands as she did back then,
she is the Last,
over the endlessly hopeless construction site
                of her dreams,
at the end of a crane arm —
thoughts like those of a Titanic passenger:
one woman with my face,
the highest evaluation, the highest race,
the highest — the stranger.

But now I’m standing again
like a madwoman
with arms outstretched.
I sink deeper and deeper with his wave,
I rise higher and higher with his wave —

the magic of a woman’s waves,
the secrets of unexplored caves.

The city sleeps far behind;
lights and infinity before my eyes.
I believed —
and now, like back then,
standing on the foredeck,
the bow breaks the surface of the water
like the zipper of my windbreaker
protecting me from fog and rain.
We are on the way —
the path of Harry Potter.

We are setting sail.

The crew is in place,
a gathering of all forms of bearded sailors —
no newcomers, only seasoned slickers.
The helmsman holds the course,
smiling, accompanied by seagulls.
Harbor lights flicker.

We are setting sail.
Hello! Ahoj!
The black box disappears into the waves.
Lists of names in the mails.
The outlines of the port collapse
into the rules of perspective.
Let’s go! Let us drive!
And in front of the bow — only a thin straight line...

Maybe the first thing we see
will be dawn.