Thunder off the ocean blurs my vision.
I think I see among the white caps
a school of mermaids trailing a mackerel boat
into shore. A gull and I turn to watch
a fisherman reel in the tide before the storm lands.
I taste the brine as wave on wave jumps the jetty.
At the moment the dark clouds collide,
I race the rain to the shelter of a dance pavilion.
A couple who resemble Fred and Ginger
are dancing the carioca to ragtime. As I approach
I see that Ginger is a redwood coat rack
and Fred is a blue cape hanging on the rack.
I slip into the cape and do a little jig across the ceiling
to a catchy Cole Porter tune I can’t quite identify.
From early night a whistle beckons me
and I glide on my magic cape through an open window
to the deck of an ocean liner.
Ginger waits.
Prompted by moonlight, I don my top hat and tails,
twirl my cane,
wrap Ginger in my arms,
and to a lively Hollywood music track we
two-step,
foxtrot,
tango
tap dance
and gambol
down
to Rio.
© gene Williamson 2008
The ship we have
known
is sailing again
It is sailing through
the ocean of pain
Through the sea
it sails
right on course
Soon it will reach
the islands
the islands of temptation
the isles of bliss
No storms there, no sorrow
Our rest is assured
Before we land
on the blessed
isle
We will taste the fruits
of the life
we have known
Yes, and we will dance
among the gardens
where we see
dawn rise once again
over the ocean and the verdant lands