They say that something is buried in this town.
They who?
The seagulls that glide before my window every night,
giggling and calling to one another.
And what is buried? Perhaps a treasure?!
If only I could fly like they do, and dive like they do
into the blue of the water,
or the blue of my dress
that now is missing a button after getting stuck
when I was climbing over the fence —
I simply wanted to get a closer look at what was there.
Was or wasn’t.
I will go, wander around among the rocks,
searching for a clue,
scribbled on a folded piece of paper,
or called to me by a sly and watchful bird
at the top of a cliff.
Collecting words 