My recurring dreams of water:
trapped on land that’s eaten by sea,
or in a cave at high tide;
looking down at a woman’s body
in clear green water near a pier.
Dreams of water, or dreams of fire,
but not for ages until the other night
when a flame leapt from the top
of the cooker, bounced onto me,
then three or four of my friends,
each of us then, on fire, in it, but
there was no smell of burning,
no smoke and no-one screamed.
This dream fire’s cool, possesses,
in fact, the properties of water.
But now I want a proper water dream;
not the sort where I nearly drown
but one where I’m swimming
in a dark, warm sea, and emerge,
dripping with phosphorescence.