The windThe wind is what drives you crazy, what comb mother’s heads and wipe off the footprints in the sand. The wind. The wind brings water and brings stones and raises boats and dreams and flings them against the floor. The wind. The wind who brings fondness for saliva and blood. who brings anxiety of swollen limbs; of broken nets; of empty baits… The wind. The wind that tangles up minds that confounds sense/ consciousness and dilutes fear. The wind. The wind brings hunger of silt, thirst of bile, smell of dead. Ah, the wind… The wind that takes and brings that breaks and drags, and rips. The wind. The wind is that eager beast, that capricious, elusive lover. It is the sea foam on the beach rottening between the rubbish; it is the dirty water and the tied boat. The wind, yes, the wind. The wind is the bullit that shoots; is the murderer; is the dead. The wind is free.