Laka (poem)

for E. and C.

late afternoon, mist's wet
breath exhales on this temple, curls around
the eaves. I pad through the house
in my slippers, light candles, strike
the gongs. Each sound answers the waiting
trees outside - yes, they agree - it is now
dusk. In the garden, small green worms
nestled in the tea's leaves, move deeper
for some warmth.

Noise from the day is put away.
Cardinals, red silk sashes, now folded
into the forest. Kitchen fire glows, a bowl
of steaming porridge and persimmons, scent of
magnolia blossom steals in through the cracks
around the doors. Gathered around the stove
together we wait - the trees, the house and I -
for laka
to inhale, reveal the stars.



*laka is the Hawaiian god of the mist.