Echidna–Dolphin

If I cover my eyes, you can’t see me.
If I put on my headphones, no one can see me.

Wandering the streets,
I am a dolphin threading through schooling fish,
trying to blow a perfect bubble,
but unable to open my mouth—
my head filled full of music.

The man in a faded blue T-shirt,
tall with a small head,
a proud white goose patrolling his garden.

Another man in a colour-blurred jacket,
back to the crossroads,
unknown liquid falling to the ground,
a shabby grey dog that never bathes.

I keep walking,
and walking...
My eyes fill with salty seawater,
dropping bead after bead—no one notices,
because I’m wearing headphones.

A pointed-roof house opens its heavy wooden door,
the only one that could see me.

I walk in.

The ornate ceiling has two holes,
revealing the rough bones of the building.
I light a candle,
hoping to illuminate the fear behind the seaweed.

No one can tell me—
because no one can see me,
except myself.

2025.12.11