the water my bed of sand

i had a dream last night

it was the most perfect dream

flying dreams could only wish to be like this one

because, you see, when i try to fly in my dreams it never lasts

i always flip and i flap

but the second i lose the focal point,

i fall and return to walking

and it hurts, it really does

the bitter irony of high altitudes i cant ever reach

but this dream was better, it was so much better

the reason being, it was underwater!

and i swam

my friend, i swam

the strength of my arms pulled forth by that gravitational taft

the water, both my hands,

that underworld was webbed through to perfection

not perfectly clear,

but not too moggy either,

an in-between nautical blur.

i was so happy therein that i didn't think of taking a breath, that was the least of my worries, if i had any

and the thing is, i don't remember going down into it

the water, i mean

i have my speculations,

i came up, from the ocean's bed 

and that's when i started swimming along that deplete axis 

or perhaps, i was born from a floating seaweed's last breath

and my bubble, instead of bursting, curtsied to mark the end of its performance,

that's when i rolled out, began swimming,

and so I was,

i speculate, i speculate 

in this dream i have no thoughts of the other world, 

that up above, 

its insignificance is so that i don't think it needs addressing

it seems the wetland overtook, 

no, no not overtook 

because i, 

well i don't think there was another place

this is the only one

friends? family? 

no, i don't think i had any

the water has been kind to me

it has always been kind to me