Catching flows


Once, I was a ferry,

covered in fresh paint and oiled mechanisms

and I was not this sinking ship,

Thrown back by my passengers and owners,

who I used to move forward on their daily trips


Once, I carried, and  sailed over the river,

wasn’t stuck like this on the shore

And now I’m rotting away and

I don’t know where I belong or what to do anymore.



The river’s side

A stream

far from constant

rushing through

narrow gorges


taking breaks in

the few small places where

the water collects in places of wideness

Do you know if it

ends in the sea?