Every morning, a couple of hours after dawn
a wispy yellow butterfly
leaves her sanctuary of tall dry grass and discarded afterthoughts
to sit for a moment
on moist Pahala black sand
polished by the Pacific Ocean’s insistent caresses
and seasoned with salt as old as time.
She performs this daily ritual
in geometric formation
in villages of thoughts and ideas
populated by dreams and illusions
images of perceived hamlets
on canvasses of poetry and prose
to soothe her restless soul
Last Sunday morning
I had so many plans
a once a week breakfast
of bacon, biscuits, casaba melon, strong coffee
followed by emails and papers checks to be mailed
first thing Monday at the local post office
and mindless dusting of shelves and coffee tables
plus a perfunctory vacuum of hallways well-traveled.
Then a friend dropped by
with unexpected gifts
Her knotted macramé cradling a spider
potted in earth enriched by organic sacrifices
plus palaver on past lives, earth, herbs and such
and we walked amongst tomatoes and basil
while my dogs sidled and shadowed her,
eager for a mere glance, a pat, an embrace
with a Sabbath heart
A wisp of stardust
drifted as seeming detritus
cast from the Sculptor’s masterpiece
of suns, planets and meteors
until this cirrus of infinitesimal iridescence
merged with your aura
imbued with ancient hues
that map the destiny of kings and prophets.
was the sole positive thought
in his wounded heart.
A fin of my ivory honu (turtle) broke off. He is sad.
If I come to the window one last time
will you promise to remember me as I was in the spring
when my whispers quickened your heart
and you yearned for my hair across your pillow?
I shall grant you one last glance,
but only if you see me as the lover
you so foolishly abandoned.
* In December 2012, a fellow blogger (sethsnap.com) invited us to submit poems on photographs he posted. This was my contribution. My original title was “House.” His photography is quite good. You will enjoy visiting his site.