The Book with the Yellow Cover | Page 3

child.?My grandfather's arm, levering?a floor board, skin hanging?from his biceps cord,?holding while I nailed.?So many treasures I can't quite see.
Wrecking Ball, Commercial Street
Salmon streaks of pulverized brick,?white pigment, tar, nicked and scarred?in every direction, patina of blows?on a mute obdurate interior.?Six weeks I carried it until?the beautiful surface cast off,?weightless. The iron opened from?the inside out and like a new bell?began to sing.
For Elena
The Polynesian Navigator
Swells current,?sky rimmed,?shell on a stick chart?promise of land,?alone and?singing.
Kahuna's Way
Twisting through high cane,?silver green, tossing in the trade winds,?toward the mountain wall?dark green jagged, deep shadows?where a warrior prayed,?ancient silence, Kahuna's way,?beyond King Sugar?and the city that is coming.
Hulemalu Road
Kauai

41, In The Honolulu Public Library
Like beautiful fish?moving slowly through coral,?they eddy through the library,?dark hair, bright dark eyes,?the wisdom of their mothers?lying gravely on their faces;?ready to love, to stay,?they flick away?on currents deep and proper.
For Catherine, someday?in a quiet hour, wondering?what is possible
When I hold your mother?while she holds me,?all that was, is;?the future comes?moment to moment,?complete.?For this, salmon swim?their river, elephants?remember, wild geese?call out at dusk.?I fought and risked,?trusted and betrayed.?How can you find another?before you find yourself,?traveling the heart's way,?alone, unsure, knowing only?that you must?
Rage's Place
Put your forehead?on the ground and?pound your fists.?Curl on your side,?close your eyes,?scream silently.?You will not be?answered. No.?But your cries--?your cries will be?clothes and flowers,?honor?for the journey.
for David and Louisa
The Purkinje Shift
All day, snow,?now turning gray,?trees darker?in the fading light,?violet peace?before the night,?slowly drifting?toward the solstice.
December
Bee Fantasy
Reaching, high on?the shoulders?of thinner air,?rising with the Queen,?the view! the view! mating?falling and falling?back to meadow,?the warm dark,?first light,?dancing out the maps.
The American Way
F18's screaming down?wing tip to wing tip,?brave, lethal, steady nerve.?Johnny Copeland's lead guitar?ripping through the air,?taking us faster, inverting, 6 G's,?dark forehead, sweat, hot and loose.?Face at the bar, arched eyebrows,?black hair back, wide mouth,?brooding, sensual, slightly battered.?Fighters, blues man, beauty,?power at the edge,?the American way.
Maine
The Sculptor's Trade
On white stands:?azure/turquoise branches,?flow and knuckle taken?by poured bronze--?bent, welded, gripped,?held, colored--?artifacts, works in progress,?ship's ribs, basketry,?child's play.?Hands dream as they fashion,?remember what they feel?(her thin shoulder,?a 9/16 inch wrench).?Let go. Follow?the sculptor's trade.?Find and shape?what is not known?until it's made.
For John von Bergen
Elegy For Simenon
Fresh air, faintly salty,?smell of bark and fallen apples,?small pond, lily pads,?dark water. White blossoms?tinged with ruby, floating,?heavy with light.?You enter one, still searching.?Slowly,?petals fold around you.
Deer Isle, Maine
Unfinished
Your hands?for clothes.?Your legs,?home.?We
For w.cat
Married twice,?once in a church,?once in City Hall,?each good in its way.?Now I choose the shade?of a live oak tree, veils?of Spanish moss,?a hundred cicadas?singing in the branches.?You are in the north,?but still we join?beneath this green?and raucous dome?Mated. Complete.?Mindful?of those?alone.
New Smyrna Beach,?Florida
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