A TRADE

Nothing stirring in the trees.

A world on the brink.

 

We live like that, I think.

Cooled a few days by the breeze

 

that rushes off the sweeping sea,

the fetch that rolls the ocean

 

in to Waikiki, a deceptive trough

which, like a snake, the land shakes off.

 

But then the Kona’s long dry run.

The days that build on days

 

of windless sun, nights without the rustle

of a palm. Which is real, and which display?

 

Which picture do we live for,

or live by? The coming calm, or

 

a childhood paradise, where

we swim forever in the windy sky?

 

The dank inexorable air,

Or the honeyed tropic lie?

 

Kailua, June 13th, 2014