On Valley Road
I passed us in the car in my dream last night.
You didn’t see us (nor did we), but I saw you
and the way your hair used to curl around your finger,
resting on your cheek so your thumb obscured your lips.
For a second, I was submerged in the oceans of your eyes
washed up in the sands of our summers.
— And it really was just for a second,
but that second lasted longer than most.
Our cars were angled unnaturally,
seemingly fated to intersect, to crash,
to draw all of us together into warped obscurity.
Pulled into the singularity, the duplicity of it all,
the four of us were about to be swallowed,
acquiescing into unknown dunes,
thirsty sands, in a wheezing pocket of space,
but then you turned your head,
there was no more suction, I inhaled,
and our cars passed each other
without any further incident
and only I knew.
