The Song of the Waves
March 15, 2017
Sun is shining,
orange and white,
a kaleidoscope,
viewed in the flash of a second
inside a tube of shimmering molten glass.
The wave is like a glittering chain,
its fat, gleaming links tumbling in a spiral dance,
robed in the silver light,
of setting sun on joyful water.
The sun is like a coin of red gold,
stroking the wave with warm, sparkling fingers,
enticing it forward.
Roiling blue dragons stream from its back
and romp in its wake.
Wide-eyed white horses gallop in front,
leading it on,
on to its deathbed.
Ferny green blankets are draped upon
the tawny gold coffin,
red in the eyes of the sun,
chipped, creamy gems lie in dull piles,
heaped ‘round the feet of the stooped mourners,
whose arms droop to their waists.
The horses plunge into their bed.
The dragons burst into stars that
twinkle and trace the scales on their backs,
as the last of their roars die away.
More horses, new waves,
canter across the molten aqua glass,
the ocean shines on,
sings on,
under the crimson glare
of the sinking crimson sun.