The traffic light was on red when I dreamt of an island in
the Saragossa Sea. No one has yet discovered it; those who
do will never recover. A happy place, how should I know?
Restless are the ghosts of sailors walking on the strand
between sea and land looking for their ship that tugs at
the anchor in some hidden bay.
Arthritic fingers flex, hoisting sails. Just once more my dear,
let me see you under full sails, swiftness on the seas.
Now my eyes can’t see for the infernal fog, but once I was
the master and you obeyed my commands.
The traffic light has turned green it wasn’t the sea I saw.
Blaring horns, oh my darling just once more...
