One by one
dreams come to die on the page
The word was passed around
They come from everywhere
to die on the page
like elephants in their graveyard
I witness their convulsions
cannot offer them a glass of water
I look at them for the first time
for the last time
before wrapping them in the shroud of my words
and placing them in the tiny boat
that was once their cradle
The current carries them off
but very soon brings them back to me
as though the open sea were not over there
but here on the page