Prompt Images

I and the waves stopped crashing,

or the sound

didn’t make it all the way to the screen

door anymore,

and the silence was a

deep layer of black at the bottom of

the Pacific,

the most absolute form

of fog,

and the beach was drowned,

and the bluffs

crumbled and were never seen again,


the surface and the sky and all manner

of moisture coalesced into one long

humid moment,

bereft of focal points

beyond itself,

outside of time,

the stars

casting amateur reflections on the

plastic telescope we’d used to capture

Venus earlier after the sun died.

Brian McGackin

‪Poet Brian McGackin is the author of BROETRY and DEATH IN THE RICK. He lives in Los Angeles and drinks a lot of Guinness.‬

learn more
Share this story
About The Prompt
A sweet, sweet collective of writers, artists, podcasters, and other creatives. Sound like fun?
Learn more