4/30: Little sailboat.

There´s a small sailboat on my wall

it lingers at the edge of the frame

the walls in my room are blue

I think it wants to sail through them

I rip out the frame, but gently

it didn´t wish to be born a prison

I shake the painting a bit

the boat trembles with fear and joy

it jumps of the ledge

falls to the ground slowly like a crumbled paper

gasps like a fish taken out of a fish-bowl

like a bird, flaps his sails which are wings which are broken

I pick him up softly

my hands are lighter when I hold him

my palms are weightless when I lift him up

I tell him to be more careful

then I drop it on the wall

he falls right in through the paint

stops midway to the bricks

but stays motionless as if stuck

making small wave rings

I try to give him a push but I can´t touch him anymore

I blow towards him, he moves an inch

he needs more wind, I reach for the window

feel him come to life

His sails swell up clumsily like a pidgeon

testing it´s wet feathers for the first time

he´s a tree that can´t grow leaves anymore

he´s a kid afraid of the dark outrunning a storm

he´s a sailor looking for a cove to name, to go there

every time he feels like casting roots

takes off without saying goodbye

I wish to step into it and fall asleep inside it´s wooden heart

it´s humid planks bending with my weight and the waves to rock me

But i´m too big to fit

I wave a handkerchief

he soars through the walls doing anything

but a straight line

goes out the window

doesn´t even have a shadow to hold him back

i´m glad he came with no anchor

Sometimes when I lay in bed and can´t sleep

he comes back

sails up to my roof where I can see him

and traces constellations of wakes for me

until I drift off to sleep

he´s there as well

never says thank you

but lets me lay on his planks and rocks me until I fall asleep again.