I carry in my passport
three visas
an entry stamp
and a smuggler.
One visa
to cross a sea
with a paddle.
Every time I dip it in the water
thorns grow
as if the sea
is fertile ground
or a prostitute
satisfying the sun’s desires
whenever it rests
its body on her.
The second
to pass through a mirror
that reflects a fragment of my shape
a shoulder bone
a limping foot
a skull with a hole
where worms and ants
devour my thoughts
all at once
leaving me no way
to escape.
The third
came after the first sky.
Every time I rise higher
my body tilts more
dancing
as if I will find the way
to a sky beyond skies
or discover
the lost island
only to fall to earth
whenever gravity
reminds me.
And the last entry stamp
was from a gate
I hung my heart on
then fled
not knowing who carried it away
from the sick
it doesn’t matter
if they can keep it
while I remain as I am
I will leave.Between me and the smuggler
there’s a question
Who am I?
When I answer
I will have all the visas
and then I’ll be
free captive
or just a fragment…
