She’s hazy in the dream.
She's talking, but she’s not making a sound.
Simon turns to you and says try lip reading,
but this dream is in reverse.
Your fingers are time running out.
The artifice is palpable.
This dream is a dream of a memory
and the Pacific is big water and the taste
of honeydew in this darkness that
envelops you the way prayer used to.
Simon says the French call it “l’appel du vide”,
like the way you’re wondering if black water feels any different than blue water.
You’re hazy in the dream and she’s a spectre
on the sand behind you as the electric
skyline erupts into the night.
This dream is a bass drum and you’re trying
to talk but your mouth is only big sound.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
She’s disappearing at your fingertips and
Simon turns to you and holds up his finger
to his mouth.