A pseudo-cloudy dreamliness

I don't know how, but I'm on a sail

from east Cartagena, letting go of their white sandy beach

to the western seaboard of Bora Bora.

We jumped into a deep, dark, cold water.

A bermuda where nobody could enter,

protected by white walls around the sides

I could swim with you there, looking at each other
with puzzled mind, we waited for anything.

Then it's there, the hints crosses our minds like fluids.
What we were about to see.
It resides not in the palm of a glittering false holy-tree
as what they have told us,

It has waited there, and might emerge beneath the cold stoned floors
Soon.