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.