Take your herd, my father

This is the sea roundabout, this is its voice, this is the descendant of the palms, this is the name, this is a plan to exchange roles between the wave and the oar, between sound and words, between son and father. If the wisdom of heavy silence becomes tight on him and he walks in the alleys of his voice between echo and fear, he calls out... to restore its balance to its shores: (Dad?)