a week in the summer

Summer again

drench wood, white leaves, sandy bricks

I'm asking to myself how the light can be so powerful to be filtered by little holes

and it can give names to the colours

and it can reveal the rusty nature of gates and watered stones

stones and leaves

and a cuttlefish

abandoned on the sidewalk

don't look the world through a pair of grey glasses

but you do look at it with that

all the times

quiet house

wet cement

find a place to everything

in your little time

in your little space

in your little breast

love to cook

and to relax your steps

day of summer

in an old time place

relax your steps on a dinghy no more used

look at one step like it was more than just a foot 

pack up and leave

again

where a little light is brighting now

there it is
just inside the fridge

the old fatty cupboard for keeping food fresh

and in the little ambered glass cups

like tiny lanterns in a seaside foggy morning

cooking the simple seasoned bread

according to ancient mariners' teaching

being just yourself

and not who you pretend to be with the others

being simply striped

and not fancy

toes in the sand

staring the stones

hundreds of different faces staring at you

riding around

clouds far from the sea

far from wooden flooring

just beneath your feet

silly orange buds

evoking your tee

waved roof tiles

white plastered petals

all around the house leaves of sleeping trees