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Mar 2021
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.
jan oskar hansensapopt
153
       der kuss and Bogdan Dragos
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