the horizon in a mural on the wall

 I visited you in my dream after my run before dawn. it was somewhere on the coast, warm like the island you used to call home for a while. we were out for drinks with your friends in the evening at the bar by the beach. the windows were open and the breeze was cool. I sat across from you and wanted to be closer. you read my mind and gestured towards the water. I followed you down to the boardwalk, which we walked beside the water til we met the horizon in a mural on a wall. you showed me through a door under a lamp above the fading sun I’d thought was real. passing through the frame we kissed our way through narrow passages in the dark. we stumbled and fell onto each other and for a moment there was forever and nothing between us. we were caught by a woman muttering curses under her breath and slicing through vases and boxes like cake with an axe. she scared us to our feet and we ran but I lost you somewhere in the darkness of the wall. in the early morning I came home to an apartment in the city where I was born. I opened the door to the professors I go to work for clearing out my furniture. they asked for help lifting the table down the stairs onto the street. as I obliged I caught a glimpse of a silhouette I don’t quite recognise watching dancing on the screen on the wall in the lounge.

there is always more I want to tell you. there is so much I can’t say. I swim in the ocean and wonder if you wish you could forget.