From the collection: Roots

The Compost Surprised Us

Honolulu, O‘ahu

A pile of unholy odds: we chucked in

bowlfuls of rinds, pits, shells and

already-rotting vegetables, and forgot

to turn it, and Brian once wondered aloud

over beer and tacos: is anything, you know,

happening out there?

The day we finally shoveled to the black

bottom, we too were transformed

by the rich, dark, beetle-starred soil,

alchemy of new beginnings.

We had never thought the work

could be done so simply upon us:

every piece rejoining the earth

by an inevitable gravity;

the earth promising ends,

and, after,


Divinity of Kin

Nuʻuanu Pali

I am not human.

I am a mountain being.

I am a mountain


I am of branch-birds

& the goatfooted,

the musky feathersoft moss -

leapinghearted, skyminded,

dancefooted, wild.

It is easy to cross the stream

looking not ahead at the water,

only watching these feet

on this stone,

this one, this


Yes, cross the stream by the laughingtrunk bamboo -



warblerdance -

and move like the water:

here, alive, divine.