Tides

Tides do change their sides on this side of the sea that refuses to be the sea or a part of it the tide tiding like every other tide has always tided before inside deep hats of magicians inside which live rabbits and pigeons as their friends do inside shirt-sleeves long sleeves coats and hangers Gogol’s overcoat over a striped shirt holding inside it shadows and sweat and a beating heart and warmth of a cozy pack of cards inside courtrooms with wig-wearing magistrates looking at the world with tight faces and everyone who sees faces such mistakenly begins to believe that the person with that tight face knows many secrets that they don’t and they hide from them away from their prying eyes birthday parties celebrations cakes candles bags of chips balloons paper platers streamers confetti crocodiles swimming in fresh-water rivers and pool-tables pools forest fire reflecting forest fire on the clouds of the evening sky with edges aflame telling stories of forgotten heroes scars on face electric nobody drinking coffee conducting an orchestra notes played with  surgical precision scalpels sharp pins and mirrors for teeth soft bristles brushes toothpaste with clove and pink stripes at times green plugged in trees after the blueness of the thunder that blasts the foundation of a history made seventy-three years ago before the seventieth year was born on the streets of cosmopolitan cities with dust-jackets to protect them from the pollution of the mind and their fresh-water bodies in which swim goldfish and the whole world feels like an aquarium when filled with suitable awestruck audience with wide eyes and wider grins