The sky holds all that is impermanent
in the eye’s reflection.
Like infinite sand grains
a gaze through the
stained glass illusion
that if anything stays true
to the way we remember it,
it is in the quintessences.
If the pain of loss is
an empty beach,
the pounding surf is
soundtrack to all that is out of reach.
The tranquil intervals that
swim through the inner reef
are carried away
on waves of
galloping horses and white spray.
A distortion to the veneer
that faith makes
surface over
all that is unclear.
The sea ,the source of
both reverence and fear.
A clash of cymbals reveal
a pair of swallows
from the deepest recesses
of symbolic release.
A swoop and a figure eight
to trace memory,
to find a face in the waves
stranded like a moon
still plain in daylight.
Years later it still remains,
smooth as a shell
over the sea
symmetrical
as a drop of water,
a pule lehua landing
on the wild naupaka.
Each thread of cloud
ushers in the change.
Light and shadow,
the interplay of branches,
in the totality a sway
and the cut of a blade
that touches
but does not alter
the horizon or
the immensity of space.
The world has swallowed us
in this place of benevolent delusion.
The elements lending themselves
to the spirit’s intrusion
between moments
layered like dreams
over the creative streams
cascading like sand
into the fissures
of impermanent footprints.
yakskinpocketnotes 