There is an elephant in the room, it’s in the corner eating my
straw mattress, the one I have had since childhood and could
not bear to get rid of, because all my dreams are hidden in
the stalks of cereal plants; white now as an old man’s beard,
yet soft as the fleece of a spring born lamb.
Ah, memory of a good life lived; sing for me, let me write down
what happened so long time ago when time was forever and
forgetfulness was a youthful distraction on a jubilant day.
Poor memory is more sinister now, what is forgotten will not
be remembered, so I need my dreams.
It is true that once upon a time I was a seafarer, but since I do
not recall well, I have to invent my tales, yet I have seen and
feared the irate sea. I must write all this down, if the elephant
eats the last straw, my dreams will be blank screen.