If I long for a shore in Europe,
It’s a small pond, dark, cold, remote,
The odor of evening, and a child full of sorrow
Who stoops to launch a crumbled paper boat.
(From Rimbaud’s ‘The Drunken Boat’)
Now I, a little lost boat, in swirling debris …
True, I’ve cried too much …
Bruno Amadio’s ‘Crying Boy’
The Fugitive Stag 