Stolen Water

Progressively ripped from the corner of the secret harbour lies the stolen water
Where rare dreams and saved memories cast shadows over the morning tide
A singular and embittered goal has no place for a mark or a silence
Where the seams of water reveal a fluid time.

It cannot be reached by boat, float or swim
It was stolen by the sheltered land and can be found in only one way
No stream, sea or fountain ever touch its edge
It was found after a long journey and the way is only chosen by a few.

It was the middle hill of the northern point of Tuscany that opened a story
Leaving a litter of streamed images-disconnected but cracked the veil
Saturated the given direction and for the first time felt a drop of stolen water
And taking off shoes was the only preparation to begin…


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