Three Weeks Gone By

by Brian Wask

I turn violently under the blanket among the leaves and the high trees shielding the sea; in my dream the same sea, darker than night during the moon’s absence, moves like a fast river, but it’s bigger and wider with no banks to contain its fury. My hat floats like a kite behind me, attached to a string hugging my throat, while the bow of the boat carves through the dark reflection of stars flickering beneath, and there beyond the edges the moon waits, its mouth wide. I can see the ocean parted by the slick wedge of the bow’s hull... suddenly falling into nothing but black as the stars above linger and the world below mysterious, absent and gentle. Her brown eyes remind me of the last few weeks together, running off midday, hiding behind trees, settling into soft dirt, moist grass. Her nose fit perfectly in my ear, and I showed her I loved her. Not so bad, I thought, holding my hat on my head.


Brian Wask's website is here.

1 comment:

Madam Z said...

This makes me dizzy, in a nice way of course.