Knock Knock -It´s The Past
The ocean knocked on my door tonight,
said I hadn’t called her in a while.

I set the table for the two of us, I served her oysters and salt water.
On the edge of her lips they whisper to her in a language I don’t know yet,
then slide down her throat with a sigh.
I said: Mother, I’m sorry I packed down all the bottles you sent me,
that I let the ships within them burn down,
I’ll never not know that all my rage is a tempest in a glass of water,
and that  all my leaving is on ships in bottles all sailing towards her benevolent hands