Tritón

The seaweed got tangled
in his hair and beard
and he looked like a Saint Peter
coming back from the water.
Yesterday he was on the sand
shedding his scales
from a captive mermaid
in a pearl-lined alley.

Triton, triton, triton.

He gets startled and runs,
dodging some glances
because he suspects those looks
might steal his soul.
And if he had a trident
like the one the top dog wields
he'd face us down,
piercing us with his shouts.

He would come close and then leave
like foam on the water,
leaving a mark in the sand
that showed where he stepped.
With the silver shadow
of the moon he ruled,
controlling the tides
in all the salty sea.

He dreamed that one day he dreamed
while looking at a white sail,
that the seagulls made
their home with their hearts,
that a dolphin was covering
the sea with white sheets,
that he crossed a desert
that his visit couldn't reach.