Asleep, a soul which lay at the bottom of the sea could dream these streets of ice and salt, breathe these nights of frost and fog into the sky, but could not have known how to live there; like a man drinking midnight’s air and tasting only empty things, there would be nothing to console him.


Look down from that hill of stars onto the streets of my city.

They are trying to weave their stories of water and fire and dazzling lights.

They are trying to save the fading colours of Paradise.

They are striving madly again to be seduced by those harbour lights , the ones that used to enchant them half the night and fill their anxious moments with love and wonderous sights.

My streets are paved with truths now, hard black and glittering in the starshine of another desperate twilight. They lead down to the waterside, where one can look into the waves and long for the dreamless sleep of brine.