N  a  p a  l  m     H  e  a  l  t  h     S  p  a  :     R  e  p  o  r  t     2  0  0  9






if everything were the Baltic Sea


there would be no Russia no Russian exclave

there would be no Belarus                                                         (it disappears, and I

no Ukraine no Lithuania

there would be no Czech Republic no Slovakia                         (homeless

there would be no Germany                                                      (unborn

                                                                                                (and so many



                                                                                                (and possible





of imagining


i am capable of trains and people on them. of cracks in wood. of almost impossible



i am capable

of a small and smiling boy

                        hand across throat


a sentence

                                                taken and retaken


i am

wagon after wagon

falling and not falling


i am

no space

            no air

            no reaching


 the ground




by daylight and not


by sea

he is for tidal theory

waiting    for a lost language

the what if of two stars

equally dissolving


the weight   

of one hand

upon another


picture canvas

(dyed and sewn

wind to move through   

over water



by land

he is gathering instruments

units    of measure

this being true


by the actions of water and air

he is tracing   

the stony surface

watching the rise and fall

(of mountains


over time

under cover

continents drift    and so does he



by air

he is swept away

restless now

lights diverge    eyes close


by sea and by land    (he dreams

almost mathematical

one star    two    three


perfectly elastic


coming to the brink




what falls away          

                                    (and where


                                    you are years on my skin my hair years beneath my fingers

                                    years of telephone years of no not that coffee shop no not that

                                    weekend you are years of wanting and years of not wanting to tell

                                    you are always grey and always waiting you across my shoulders

                                    you under the bed you are years of silent you are driving off the

                                    road you are jumping from the car you are and you are lovely