Here I am 
at the border of creation 
here, where the landscape is sketchy 
and it seems that someone rushed 
to fabricate a rough draft of a horizon

The sporadic view 
of gas stations for fishing boats
is it a land-scape?
A couple of barges sway in a desert-sea
and their crews of scavengers
cruise a man-made atmosphere 
kneaded from sand, concrete, rain
lots of rain 

The hearts of brave men 
chained to these wreckages
are devoured by eagles 
like in the myth of Prometheus 
only here the raptor 
is called solitude

The blood of this earth
confined in arteries and veins
never mixes:
freshwater south, north brackish 
a two-lane highway flows in between 
and winds its way 
tracing the spine of a titan,
this dike marks the place 
where, by the will of men 
sea and land 
will never merge again