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Little Sips

 


The dreams that found me here

induced by others. Temporary rooms where

the anticipated inhabitant never returned. 


We rummage for lost things. As I pack 

I survey this cottage into which I’ve spilled white coral

and cords for charging. 

 

My dreams once home again will likely be
of hibiscus, blood pink pinwheels, and the Willi Willi bloom

stitching the limbs of highway trees - yellow and orange and fading.


I will awake to remnant archipelago green;

roosters’ wild calls and tea cup sized mourning doves
somnolence interrupted by soot black lava 

reef and north Pacific wind

little sips of the narrowing cave of my father’s
dementia as we shared nightly dinner visits here.

And on the rental lanai, the sun setting above the lucky 

horseshoe tip of the other side of the island, 

dropping from brief chimera. 

 

There will be rain.



(Haiku, Maui, Hawaii, August 2021)


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