A Home for the Octopus

Color black, color white.
Recalling last night.
That day she saw the octopus in the sea.
It came closer to her using all of its arms.
Slow movements and decisive manner.
The approach made her nervous though she knew it was a friend.
A friend who had been far away for a long time.
A friend that called her many times through her dreams at night.
A close friend actually wondering how she was.
A hard thing to find in mankind.

Number eight, number seven.
There was the missing heaven.
In the absence of one arm,
The octopus reached its way home.
The gift it brought for her had gone
With the loss of one arm.
The arm was holding it tight and close.
Could not say why.
Could not say how.
Was it sharp?
Could not say.

Home, home, hard to reach.
Far away from all places.
Impossible as the perfection of life.
Don't stop me here, don't stop me now.
I still have much to go.
Soon, the octopus thought, soon, though
Soon was not defined clearly.
Was it the time of the octopus?
Was it the time of men?