Miasma
Spent moon, ghostly spectral
shadow, slides behind crested dune.
Her fiery opposite outlines
cypress, cat-tail crusted pond.
Fog intercedes, cloaks
once-blue skies, conceals sunrise.
Damp cobwebs glitter from
greasewood, willows, tumbleweed.
Mist rises like warm
delirium, tips time, tricks the eye.
Wetland miasma, crooning owls
declare coming dusk.
Only hawks, circling in
search of uncloistered squirrels,
dispel the clever cheat,
disregard gold illusion.
Hazy horizon could clear, obstructions
evaporate.
Morning hangs in the balance.
Rainstorming
Coconut palms applaud silver
downpour.
Burst hibiscus litter a volcanic
red trail.
A rainbow binds verdant
jungle
to coral reef, light
turquoise ocean.
Primary colors streak charcoal
horizon.
I sip coffee, scribble at kitchen
table,
watch Nene geese forage
across wet lawn.
They bend and probe, seek
tender morsels.
I pick through words, gather
images,
capture the metaphor of this
pregnant moment.
Overlook
Rain clouds simmer
across blue Sleeping Giant, disintegrate
above patchwork taro fields,
silver river, feathery palms.
Green undulates downhill
to pulsing, cerulean ocean.
Along muddy gully
descending to coral beach,
roosters chase mourning doves
into pink ginger.
I contemplate ragged Kalalea peak,
imagine fire gods whose burning hands
shaped this red island.
Their bones decompose under
blossoming mountain
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