I dream of swimming
in the sea beside
a band of wild white

horses, and then

I swim my dream
after drowning
(just for a little while).

This life no longer
chronological, they run
through the marshes

of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer,
soon trampling over a blank page
to be filled by another too bright

day into starry night.
The Mediterranean rolls
its waves in a kaleidoscope

of greens & yellows,
blues & whites,
even purples, Van Gogh

would suggest. The horizon
set so high above, fishing boats
must distance themselves

to pierce the line
into the sky. 136 years
since Van Gogh came to paint

his dreams, I find

the sea rising and salt poisoning
the fields. Where will the horses
and fellow flamingos go

when the Rhône delta drowns?
Can we coax it into becoming
a blue carbon sink in time?