Nights in our desert are clear and cold. Yet, I when I sleep, I dream of ships. The dunes dissolve into white crested waves; the ocean of reddish-brown sand turns to seafoam and deep blue. I hear the snap of sailcloth, feel the sting of spray rushing over the bow. The ship rolls beneath my feet; I steady myself against the mast. I am sailing, sailing. Perhaps, one morning, I will awake, not into my arid world, but aboard my night-ship, sailing, sailing.
for mlmm’s first line friday: Nights in our desert were clear and cold.