flying fishes

Where is the origin,
if not in sleep,

The whale was
a shimmering sound
deep deep in the sea,
sleeping, dreaming.

I heard a monotonous
murmur, there was
this grid of lullaby sound
in the silence of the ocean

And then a need for air
and we rose with bubbles
into the cold waves,
white under the moon

splashing and blowing
sucking the joy of air
into three thousand litres
of lung, pure power

then tail fin up,

diving, leaving

me to see the sky

filled with flying fishes

and in the blue dawn

of infinite horizons,

i swim for my boat,

happy, half asleep