Smuggler’s bay

No longer floating light,
Am I carrying someone else?
Am I now another’s boat to the next life?

Out they come, the little doubts lining
Up on the shore, like troops.
Will they let us pass?

Assisted concept


I am here, on the shore
Of conception.

The eleventh floor of the
Tower wing.

How light and shiny the
The notice board.

The place where babies
Are prescribed.

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