Islands

Hello friends.  I am at the Honolulu airport, 76 degrees and a purple-red sunset streaking the skies.  I'm off to Hilo, my destination in an hour.  Meanwhile here's a poem I wrote in transit. Stand by...

Crossing the Pacific, the plane briefly sighs.

On the way, on my way

Leaving the security and/or familiarity of

Cold and snow, Connecticut deep

Friends and family, love and sure things

(CT, the land of steady habits)

Crossing first through Chicago, with its broad shoulders

And mid-west sensibility,

Where kind strangers, doing their jobs, but with a song

Help book me straight through

On this time/place machine

And seated me in an exit seat too

No charge, leg room, a little luxury

(Good on ya mate, as my brother would text)

And I have no remorse, few regrets,

That may follow, though I doubt so.

I am gone long, but not likely forever

I am gone far, but not completely forgotten

I am gone deep, but still in their dreams gently,

So it seems.

And I know, when I land in Hawaii that it will inch me

Nudge me, osmotically

Move me a little closer to some other way

Maybe more carefree

Maybe more easy of spirit

Maybe I will dream and sleep

Listening to the rain

Feeling the sun on the tops of my feet.

I am willing to be enchanted.