Expedition1: February 8
White sand is floating
like a swarm of sharp needles,
like a powdered sugar fog.
Sandy tears draw lines
on the face of a black dog.
Through rough, stormy gusts of wind
I hear tinkling of fragile seashells.
I crushed unwillingly thousands of them.
Wind pushes out tears from my eyes,
Wind sucks out air from my lungs,
Wind caresses my face with a touch of a sand paper.
Expedition 2: February 15
Whirlpool of seagulls twists above my head.
Blushing sky colours the air.
Smell of algae reaches my nostrils.
And then in turns dark.
We fight against the wind and build a simple tent
to hide in there for a cup of tea and an intimate talk.
Expedition 3: March 14
Warmth of the sun reveals milky future.
Wet sand is perfectly even and flat.
Except for steps that horses engraved.
Thousands of seashells tinkle around me.
I can smell a little hint of spring.
Expedition 4: April 4 (with Kenzo)
I’m squinting in the sun and have a thin-lined view.
Suddenly a big bug crushes into my cheek.
I throw a slimy, sandy ball for the dog to fetch.
He brings it back, sits down and waits.
Then vaporising breath disperses from his mouth.
We are a tribe of transparent people.
We move in a flow like bags filled with water.
Our bodies are homes for happy fish.
Rays of the sun pierce the sea
and pour glitter on the surface of the water.
The air is clear and undisturbed.
I hear the flapping of the wings of the flying by bird.
A discrete rainbow slowly emerges.