by jan oskar hansen
The tide was leaving, damp sand by the winter
shore and I feared sharks that kept guard and
wouldn’t let me set sail. Gulls flew overhead
waited for me to look up so they could peck
and blind me if I looked up to the heaven and
spoke of my sorrow.
Gleeful mermaids, dressed in sealskin coats
sat on tourmaline stones and knitted a crown
of seaweed for Neptune while chanting a song
that made fun of him in a language he didn’t’
get as he sat picking sea stars and tiny crabs
off his beard.
Walked along a dusty road flanked by goats
with yellow eyes but they scared me not only
sharks do, till I came to a wooden gate where
an Arab mare asked to be set from her coral.
I opened the gate door and she flew to the sea
and soon harmonized with the rolling mist.
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