Crest of a wave

He was standing there
in the line of the sea
that man, asking where
should him go now
that man, whom I did not know
but was a dream of mine
searching UK from the horizon

In a down-to-earth way
you know, blended with the
colours which won't stay
I was mixed
being a feather
fallen from the bird called
Atlantic Puffin

He could easily hide
me into pocket of his jeans
tie me tightly, guide
to the knitted
ribbons of pyjamas
button me up
to the collar of jacket

As a feather in the air
I was floating in the wind
covered with arms of care
steps on a wooden jetty
which made him whistle
lyrics from the past
packed with no worries

He could easily hide
me into pocket of his jeans
tie me tightly, guide

He could have trown me free
from the opened window
still decided me to be
not the glued, poor feather
in the moisture of the glass
but the finest treasure
stabbed into his wooly hat