On the edge of a foreign land,
they have forgotten me again.
While they doze, or while they argue,
I become like wood.
And I drift.
And I wonder how far I can swim
before they notice I’m gone.
My mistake.
From Fuerteventura’s sands,
I could have reached the Western deserts.
Had I not been just a human.
But I am seven.
And drifting.
And they already look like ants,
so I return myself to shore.
Grudgingly.
Then, when I finally find them
amongst the thousands of others,
they are dozing, and arguing.
I sit back down, beside the chaos,
in the heat,
and understand.
It will be up to me
to keep myself afloat.
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