He does not move, he does not work, he is idle, he aspires, he is aspirated. He crosses the desert. It is too late or too early to be the child, the camel is dead of thirst, he is a kitten more than a lion and anyway the dragon is in a museum. He remembers, once there was an ocean here. In these waters, one of his ancestors faced his inner beast : a gigantic sea serpent. He doesn't remember, he imagines. Maybe it's the same thing. He gesticulates, he opens, he works, he exhales, he is far from exhaled. The wind blows on his sail of faded images. The wave propels his board into the currents where he repeats himself and loses his breath then succumbs to the silence of the drowned. He surfs towards the mirage. The sirens sing. He is shipwrecked.