The Sunrise Dream

The dark summer clouds are roaring and hanging.

She dreamed again of the white-walled room that

awaited the painted carpet. Spent hours with him.

August shivers from the window; the smell

of salted fish and the sound of frigates blowing their

horns out to sea. Then as he quieted his paintbrush

he realized that the suitcase propped open in his

room was nothing but a bed chair and the flickering

of curtains swirling in the warm air. Birds

in silhouetted lace mound corridors capture prey

with pointed beaks and wings. The sun rises dimly,

disconcertingly. They drove the sun out of the sea

so that its canvas was warmed by its heat and

its slender strokes in the sunrise dream saw no twin.

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David M. Alper is a high school AP English teacher in New York City, residing in Manhattan. His work appears in Variant Literature, The McNeese Review, Oxford Magazine, and elsewhere.