In a store I saw a one-cup teapot
shaped like a fish I once met
under the waves at Puako Beach.
Short as a thumb, he had a name longer
Torah scrolls on their mahogany spindles
mesmerize me, as does the Dove and Latin
chanting, neat as our gardener’s pruning, but
parents say, Choose one.
The soil surges with elusive tides.
By my apartment an oak dives
head first into a hidden sea
while bird chatter rattles the sky.
Today, pines teal the skyline
and red-tailed hawks swoop from dense stands.
Finches rubble the quiet. At low tide,
in golden light, all seems to rest
The packed tissue-box of a peony explodes.
The sun’s flames arrive on petals of time.
Spring irises and volcanoes: earth's fire reawakening.
Early morning and I wander out
of a tangled cat's cradle of childhood.
From house to sky the sun unveils a fire path
and I set bare foot in earth's round temple.
- The universe, say surprised astronomers, has twice as much accumulated starlight as can be explained by all the known stars and galaxies. - Newspaper article,1998.
We have twice as much starlight,
One more unpeeling of the walls,
close enough to the final time
that I can relish the tiny tearings,
the way muscles unclasp
She incants the woman from the girl and sings,
this rabbi in long earrings and a lavender dress,