the ocean of dreams

The ocean of dreams

 

The old man was still in his bed; someone said, is he dead?

No, not yet he says I dream of seagulls flying over the ocean.

Once I was a dolphin, my sons and daughters live there,

Now they are in the bay of Cascais, waving for me to join them.

They need a father figure.

Years ago, he swam ashore, and kind people gave him a suit.

Now he walks like Hercules Poirot, small careful steps.

He dreams of the vast ocean, he knew so well, swam alongside cargo ships.

It was a fun time but not a place to write poetry.

My dear children, he says, I will join you later when I write the poem.

Of everlasting love.

Is he dead?  Someone whisper, no, he is only dreaming of the sea.

He knew so well.

 

◄ cancel culture

Syria, my lovely ►

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