An iceberg where the tip is a bag of potatoes

starchy and salty swallow them up

and for desert there might be room

to float into their eyes

do you beam fantasising about

a lifetime of fresh arctic water

quenching your thirst or grin

as it sails through the ocean

just wetting your tongue?

have you ever trampled

through the damp night

along an indistinct path

enjoying your worries because

they may not be there tomorrow?

what about when it’s dark on the path

and through the water

the streetlights aren’t enough

to illuminate the depth of the iceberg

don’t you still dream?