The Sopot Pier (part II of the Polish Triptych)
Velid Beganovic
The train brakes and screeches and we climb down onto the land-d-d land land before we see the sea, always out of season, spitting fossils and amber.
I spot you inside the yellow on my palm, your youth caught in the resin of my old bark when I was a spruce, propelled into the future where I collect you again, unchanged but crystallised, and my mouth begins to kiss and lick you out of your splendid transparent grave, for us to walk on the pier again, and talk between the cries of gulls and wind slaps,
Then blue-ue-ue blue blue the sea stretching endless fractals in your eyes.












