Yet another poem based on an old dream I had. I woke up, reached over, somehow managed to find paper and a pencil in my sleep drunkenness, and scrawled it down. It hasn’t been edited once after that one time. I don’t necessarily understand it myself, as many times as I’ve read over it and thought of how it compares to the dream. It’s one of a few things I’ve written that somehow feels like it wasn’t myself who wrote it, oddly enough. It implies the barest framework of a narrative which can only be guessed at. | The last stanza lacks punctuation, which annoys me to no end, but for some reason I’m almost scared to add any into it.

Interim

Sunlight played across sand dunes

as the ocean smacked the packed sand.

The sun was dying, and it hurt our eyes

if we weren’t careful.

A seagull cried loneliness

as it wheeled above us, hoping for a meal,

but we had no food, no anything.

We came separately, and met somehow

and together we looked out on the grey-blue water

I was waiting for the sun to set

and you waited for the moon to rise