hello

my forms are not mature enough. i’ll ripen sometimes in some late watery season erased from calendars and maps and i need a sailor to compass my seeds and peel my thick skin. then the sailor should hurry to spin the wheel of my frantic heart before it says hello, anyone there? hellos are dangerous, trains and railway stations are dangerous, red bags and return tickets in any language are dangerous. my danger is inevitable. i take it wholeheartedly and i say hello again.