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Leap Day

Leap Day

the leftover fragments of other years
cobbled together
to make an impulsive day
beyond the capability
of my wristwatch to reconcile

what did we pour into
this freebie grabbag of hours?

a luminous sunrise
over islands over water
firing the wood paneling
of our little cabin

watching penguins from our breakfast
of warm rolls dotted with butter
melting to pools

looking for pudús (always)

watching metallic green hummingbirds
zip from fuchsia to pine bough

rambling down the beach path
to join the penguins on the water

taking in the black and white
volcanoes across the way
that mark the continent’s spine

entering the blue white yellow
Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de Chonchi
watching the stars wink
above a sea of incense and prayers

coming into Queilén, a warm haven
where the sea can sing to you
and the moon is tipped
in an unfamiliar way

every day is an uncertain gift
each date one that might never arrive
but some are imbued
with a bit more magic
sometimes we have the sense
to savor the day’s passing
before regret can even rise

poetry

home

home

a place we unpack
where there’s more than one key
and these strangers may be neighbors
there’s a rhythm and a knowing
of what comes next
at the grocery store
we can buy family-sized food
and next week’s events
on the notice board mean something
it’s a place to hang up our packs
for a spell
and dream about the same vista
for more than one night

poetry

wandering

wandering

almost every night these days
I peer into what will be

there’s a grace in not wanting
not asking or deciding
just waking up
without choosing a path
but that’s not for tomorrow

we’re still weaving the rope
that leads back home

poetry

cross-Tasman smoke

cross-Tasman smoke

at first it seemed low-lying cloud
like the grey embedded in Great Lakes life
a natural ceiling for a January day
but when I saw the sun
my heart slumped
that sick pink-salmon shade
that without fail means fire

it doesn’t matter how many oceans we cross
the earth everywhere is burning
still we recklessly slake our thirst for jet fuel
while the ash rains down on our hair

we should undoubtedly stay home
satisfied with others’ memories
but it feels like asking too much
to refrain from ever knowing
some of what is left

poetry

flight to Christchurch

flight to Christchurch

without asking
the friendly flight attendant
turns off my light
and puts me to bed

all I can do as we wing our way to
this land of crinkled cliffs
and warm woolly flesh
is scribble work hard and rest
before the scene goes grey
with the gift of sleep

poetry

contentment

contentment

how many days in paradise
before
a day’s worth of rain
sounds idyllic?

poetry

ice: traveler’s temptation

ice: traveler’s temptation

the slick angular cubes and prisms
beg a tongue to lick and linger
to feel the polar opposite
of oppressive equatorial heat
thick with humidity, deferral, languor

don’t think about the risk
the bubble-studded beauties plead

and we weak temperate beings
succumb to their promise of cold
berak-berak be damned

poetry

moving on

moving on

old grey pixelated photos
line up against today’s backdrop
same person? same place?

smoking grey coconut hulls
shower us with magic, danger
either way, too close

red lines barely tie these islands together
and dollar signs drift in and out of focus:
how to get to point B when point A resists?

all I want to do is sleep now to the echo of gamelan
but we must keep moving on

poetry

Bali Bearings

Bali Bearings

incense and flowers spilling into the street
furious gamelan pounding
with the same strokes as
the threshing of rice
shocking turquoise of kingfisher
matched with the identical blue rice-field banner
waterfalls along the sidewalk
frangipani scent everywhere
orange stone and
black-and-white checked guardians
the shadow puppet villian’s bwa-ha-ha
and the Baris dancer’s and Barong’s rolling eyes
a stark contrast to the friendly Balinese

Bali finds every way to outdo itself
(even now, despite the travelers who complain
it’s overdone)
& saturates your every sense

poetry

one month in

one month in

one month in
Cedar arranges his pilfered blanket then states that’s sorted
Owen eats any dried meat he can
both boys down tea and fizzies
we know how long a kilometer feels
I give up on Owen wearing shorts or Cedar wearing trousers
we know crisps vs. chips without having to think
an African choir and yowling hyenas serenade us to sleep
we’re a little less American
and a bit more worldly