Dance on Waves

by Brenda Clews

The ocean frames
the ocean.
Dance on waves
in black taffeta.
Lose the night.
Striptease of smoke.
A sea of sequins.
Green spotlights.
The man in the white tie
rotary dials
the future.
An opaque cornea
watches time tangle
under rims the colour
of oil rainbows
in black puddles.
Leather ruffle vest
absorbs light
like shackles.
Sleepwalk to the door.
Shadows pass
on sheer curtains.
The woman is
surrounded by

A red curtain
frames the ocean.
The man is ravished.
An archway opens,
the keyhole of the
lovemaking bed.
Newspapers line
the walls
with events that
haven’t happened yet.

Ferns grow through
my fingers,
the water doesn’t run,
I am invisible in
the time-encrusted

A hurricane
came and went.

The painting of
the ocean
reddens into reality.

The ruin of art.
I cannot speak
your language.

The sky is painted
on window panes,
blue, white clouds

Sip brandy, keep

My pulse is a
radio wave.

The door clatters.

Paintings come
to life.
There are many
people who don’t

The poet disappears
into the poem.

Blue electric fire,
the great night tide.

— from Juniper Volume 1, Issue 2