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?