We were driven back into town
lulled in the back seat
by the rhythm of the ride
and the heat and waves
and the conversation we had all enjoyed.

We were sleepy
so it’s unclear what was reality
versus dream
but our knees touched
our hands touched
and our lips, perhaps,
joined for a while.

It must have been imagination
– wishful thinking.
I was married.
You were young
and your lover was in a different vehicle
meeting us back in town
soon enough.
But in the rolling car
with our silent driver
and the exhaustion
after the tension of the tides
made anything seem possible.

Even the traffic
because of the parade
seems to fit
The costumes, the disguises,
leading you to burrow into my chest
seemed possibly a product of fantasy
and possibly the most solid of facts.

It couldn’t last
the dream into reality
but it was something
when we drove into town
after the beach
and all that had transpired.