Last night I dreamt yet again
about that flock of white birds
flying over the ocean.
A few weeks back, early March,
Jane and Anne insisted that
we pile into the carriage
and take a trip to the sea –
the last time I’d left the house.
I didn’t feel much like going
but let them force the issue.
It was quite a longish day
and I was over-wearied
when we finally returned.

I swear, while there, that I saw
a white bird dive arrow-straight
into the sea and fly out
with a small fish in its mouth.
That’s when I first had the dream;
and since then on many nights.