I hope to think of you as holding in
Fragile perceptive hands a lei
Of curious shell ginger. Certain it is
All ships must reckon with the drowned and gone
Though this is our island now
As you shake back yellow braids, bending
To catch the scent of ginger,
Mostly there is womanhood in such gesture.
Oh they are liars who call this innocence
Of the blood, the dying, or the adult lust,
For knowledge prepares your fingers for the intricate
Kiss of the blossom, your eyes for my eager ones
And what you give is given without stint:
That you must love all ways that have all loves.
Waiting is worst. Not death nor fear nor hurt
When the beach is evil with the enemy.
What shall I pray to? Timeless things
Rattle uncannily in the void time, and
Remarkable providences do not amaze.
Image of stillness, an island forms in time
Where you bend, fragile with the curled blossoms.
Leave a Reply