To be a thing

without use value.

To be a thing that gains value over time

though no one knows why.

To let yourself be called

a decorative item.

To hear that youre superfluous.

To hear they cant make it without you.

To breathe inside yourself.

To change owners.

To be unpossessed.

To be an object of admiration.

To change locations,

to avoid migration.

To be satisfied.

To be a ship.

Face turned to the seafloor to be

on both sides of the deep.

To leave a trace

not for eternity.

To sail in.

To sail out

the same way.

To be loved in harbors.

To be a ship.

To love

the better part of life in the open sea

to dream of harbors.

To avoid waiting. To move

always by the same path

from harbor back towards it.

Entranced by the nets on deck.

To transform cargo into stories.

To be a ship.

To bear yourself without effort.

To be kin. To anyone.

To men, women, algae,

tigers leaping at a deer,

lotuses settled in their own tears,

islands, caves who have at least one

chamber unexplored

to be related.

To love you

and never to learn it.

To be always suddenly

new joy and unexpected pain.

To avoid existence.

A drop

on your skin

thats already a memory of touch.

The drops already another drop.

To be actually never.

To be now.

Singularity in passage.

Marija Kneevi is an award-winning poet, editor, writer and translator based in Belgrade. Born in 1963, she studied Comparative Literature as a BA at the University of Belgrade and as an MA at Michigan State University. She has authored eight collections of poetry and 11 novels. This poem is part of her new bilingual anthology, Breathing Technique, published by Zephyr Press. You can get your copy here.

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