Этот город ушел под воду. Сам стал водой....

This city has gone under water. Itself became water. Instead of slopes - abyss, on the railing of bridges - polyps. Isn’t the old Atlantis so famous? And if there is water over the bridge, then what is considered a river? And from under the feet flocks of fish flock up, on shell trajectories a shell rock, seaweed in pots. And I don’t know how I swam here. And I don’t know how to get out of here either. Maybe I had a dream? A clear blue instead of cloudy and unsteady greens above your head. Clear shadows, sunny foliage, avenues, buses, coffee are always with you. And now only water all around. And after the city, I myself become water. And after all, I do not remember that I was suffocating, drowning, trembling. He looked out the window in the morning - whales soared above the houses. I held salty weak coffee in my hands and thought that depth was just an option for measuring height. Then he left the house, worked, came home. It has always been that way. At home I met a home catfish. But damn it, I remember how the river shines under the sun, how the blue night becomes a white day, I remember the taste of cigarettes, the smell of fragrant herbs, a tan on my shoulders, a bonfire at sunset, a forest. And now it’s as if I’m wrong, as if they gave me upfront some strange miracles. As if Santa had confused reality, God changed the route. Fervent minnows scurry about on the balcony. I'll go to bed just to forget: I'm here. And I will never see even an inch of dry land.
And they tell me:
“You just lost your mind.” Today is a sandy fog, and you're all about some kind of dreams. Let's go, let's see how now the water turns yellow. Such a spectacle should be expected then another three springs.
And I remember how the pears in the gardens bloom, the ears of wheat, how the snow falls at night.
Maybe I'm crazy, but I can’t do that anymore.
And I don’t know how to escape.