From The Lab

Reflections On A Dream

Let us call it a beach,
(It is the idea closest to which we can understand,)
Although its surface is not sand,
The tide has little water and
Its horizon is always changing.
I am not the first to see it;
Indeed, there were people here when I first arrived,
Far away in the distance. Only now,
A few yards to the left and everywhere in between:
A woman who keeps her back to me,
Pretending not to notice, while playing
In the not-sand sand,
A mustachioed man writes on old parchment
Set against his lap, looking up at me every so often
Then back down at his yellowing page;
I wish he would not notice me.
A smallish girl was dancing along the water's(?) edge,
Collecting radiant pink gemstones
In her apron, before smashing them against the rocky terrain,
Cackling in delight as she did so.
Somewhere in the distance a bicycle bell is tinkling,
And for some dreadful reason
I hope the God-foresaken thing never reaches me.