Dusk
along the lane
only foundations remained
we traced them with our feet
stumbling occasionally
I stood inside one
he – just outside the one next door
for one moment
music lingered on the warm humid breeze
in September of 1941
there was no carnage
The old runway
evoked pre-dawn mornings
the palpable drone of engines
the smell of aircraft fuel
Ford Island
lay in the protected womb of Pearl Harbor
Unable to reconcile a relative of the onion growing among grape vines…
Side by side
They hung against what
I imagined were cool stone walls
Fascinating – high in the sky, flying free (with a safety line that might break and then again maybe not) – an exhilarating place to be. A flyer of kites must have faith to let go and toss it into the wind so it can rise to great heights. To know when to reel it…
Out on the prairie and down east (along the coast) there are wild ponies, occasionally one sees a sign – DO NOT FEED I took a risk, guided my car roadside, and searched remnants of lunch for the saved afternoon snack Much larger than I imagined I wondered, would he charge, bolt, or bite –…
Driving up the hill towards the cabin taking stock of our visit so far one chipmunk no deer no bear (taxidermied animals don’t count) Cresting the hill two does stood in the middle of the road paused, then continued over the fence to join a third That night in the rain we sat in rockers…
Tall and thin, he leans against a jet, sun bouncing off the carrier deck beyond, a peaceful expanse of South China Sea something quietly tired in his smile In other pics boys far too young flash vibrant smiles as they climb about aircraft – Tanned and shirtless a young tousled-hair plane captain laughs at the…