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When I was a young man, I would sit in front of my house, On a small lawn chair in front of a picket fence, And watch the waves of an invisible ocean, Wade over the pavement of the road. As I got older, I started to stand while I watched, Sometimes I’d even hear seagulls or tourists, And I would let the imaginary water, Run over the ends of my exposed toes. And now that I am older, I like to sit at the bottom of the ocean, With my arms resting on my crossed legs, Feeling the rough cement under my feet, And see if my lunges will fill with harmless water.