SILVER COAST

How many days since the morning of the departure?
When in a hurry, I left this small coastal village.
Leaving everything behind, I chase a shadow.
Tracks in the sand and a silhouette on the horizon.
Fists clenched, a knife between my teeth.
The turned-up collar of this old trench-coat, floating in the wind, my bare feet on this dune rising like the scar that used to run across your skin.
And these rolls of film that I still have, testimony of a world that is no more and last rampart of my madness.