I Dreamt the Storm Was Coming

The languid density of August damp polyester, coconut-oiled skin caked by loose, tawny sand we squat amid scattered popsicle sticks shards of beer bottles, cigarette butts plastic straw wrappers our view lined with concrete high rises late afternoon’s blandness is disturbed first by color: an orange foreboding sickly sky wilted water brick-red waves sea foam, iridescent milk

then by wind: a whispering at our ankles a wet gasp rises from the ground

then by a growl: humble yourselves, warns the cloud

we stand aghast at the world’s edge

beauty and savagery imminent three slick cormorants slice the amber sky ancient pelicans retreat in a single line plovers, scattered crumbs, evaporate beneath our feet hermit crabs disappear diagonally into burrows swollen air presses down our chests

we feel a black gathering like shame in the back of our minds knotted at the nape of our necks that sweats and gurgles we, ignoble multitudes, shrink and huddle elbows quiver goosebumps sweep our calves sky’s fierce gaze miniaturizes our bodies

At the doorway of dream we know we know what is coming

It speaks: How long did you think you could live like this?

Photo Credit: Gregory Hardison