Yesod sh’b Hod*
Let’s listen to the man, bare
toes flexing his flip-flops, who paces
his green island surrounded by hardened
lava’s bleak wasteland. 

His ranch style home’s the only one standing
in this volcano drowned suburb.
Looking out from his deck across blackened crust
to the distant white-caps rimming the horizon,

he tells us, “This is my Hawaiian paradise.
When I first arrived, all you could see
were palm trees, a sea of shining green
flowing down to the beach.”  His arm

maps the ruined arc of his gazing.  “It’s still
my paradise.  When Pelle comes,”
he muses “I’ll step to one side.
I’ll give all this back to her.”
                                    5/3/2010
                              Connection within Gratitude*