One night I dreamt a dream of the sea,
of waves and foam becoming of me,
with fish's tail and seaweed hair floating so free -
that night I dreamt, I dreamt of the sea.
Upon morning after, kin to fish I was not,
though the dream I had not forgot,
floating on current, my fins so taut
searching for something, something I sought.
How cruel to wake to legs cramping and aching,
to a wan day not even worth the taking.
I cursed my flesh the error it was making,
of the illness, that illness, under which I was breaking.
I took a swim in the ocean that day,
as if to recapture the dream's magic someway,
of losing myself to the ocean's soft sway,
in the cool waters, the waters of the bay.
I lay on my back to relax and unwind,
in the cool waters, which were so kind
to a poor shell which sickness did rudely bind,
and yearned so for freedom, for freedom it pined.
Perhaps my petition was heard by the ocean,
for the waves swelled in a cradling motion,
and I felt so strongly this odd, furtive notion,
of such a strong feeling, a feeling of devotion.
And on a whim, I let myself sink
into the water, into the soft drink
and as I fell, I had time to think
what was this feeling, this sudden instinct?
I kicked out my legs, surprised to feel
that their strength was full, a feel so surreal,
and I wriggled, I waved, I lashed out like an eel,
with this newfound thew, with newfound zeal.
I looked upon my legs in the murk
and felt my heart patter berserk
as beneath me I did see deep down lurk
fins long and lush, a lush, profound work.
Beneath the water did I stay then
and out of the water never came I again.