The Wave {An ekphrastic poem for C.R.W. Nevinson’s painting The Wave}

Pillows billow via salt whip,

Held by a tamer through a gaping sleeve

In the days’ blackened blouse.

Speckled pajamas.

Under covers lays a man,

Cradles his left in his right,

His lumbar heaving in fetal.

Metronomic wails,

A voice crashing and roaring.

Mucus bubbles at the surface, staining covers.

Just to dissolve.

He longs for who the moon pretends to be

Trapped by a leash,

Forcing smiles in another.

Tossing light off a pale mirror.

Mourning the lack of radiant sun, to wipe salty tears and to

Scorch raw skin.

He calls upon the sun to catch the moon,

Yet darkness stays stubborn.

For now, he kicks the sheets as a boy,

Waiting for the sky in bright.

Reunion in eclipse.