I wonder where the boat docked,
if it managed to berth at some point
to look at the horizon
and add new lines with
the sharp point of the mast.
I wonder how many seas the boat
managed to go across
or if it even found that ocean of utopians
on its misty way looking for new lands to explore
in the infinite spiral of the twistling waves.
I wonder how many dawns and sunset
were testimony of the journey
of a lonely boat without a sailor
with no woman or man to blow air from their lungs
into the wings of the sails.
Only have I dared now to look through the window,
waiting for the boat to come back,
expecting to see a perfect curved outline
against the canvas of the wind.
I have waited so long,
but now my only aim is looking face to face,
confronting that hull of mine
and with the hammer of my fist,
carving again from zero
and becoming shipyard and sailor at the same time.
For me to sail and fly.