Soft rain comes and goes
in a glorious sky
over Poipu beach in Kauai,
and the rainbows stretch and strengthen,
Around us are a pecking, crowing,
earthbound rainbow of mua,
red jungle fowl, thriving
on an island with no predators,
scattered and wild
since Hurricane Iniki,
destroyed both calm hen houses
and coops of cocks bred for fighting.
Tourists love the roosters,
with their gaudy feathers
and fearless strut
who tell us that there is morning
all the day long.
I am hand in hand with grandsons
on the keiki beach,
set aside for small children.
Three seals are playing or fighting
(a bit like the boys)
and then fall suddenly heavily asleep
on hot sand.
My small companions
are even more interested in a crab.
Honu lies on the beach as well
behind a lifeguard tamped boundary,
so the curious do not actually sit on her
while taking selfies.
She is maybe three hundred pounds,
Hawaiian green sea turtle,
graceful in the ocean, slow on land.
She opens her eyes for me.
I recognize a sister, probably my age —
for she no longer lays eggs,
just sunbathes, happy to pose
as tremendously wise,
for the gullible and any passing
All around me, among those trying
new-rented snorkeling gear,
are the shadows of others
just as awkward with what they should do next –
some fishers in a story,
also brothers and wrestlers,
with an invitation to follow
and meet wisdom
usually recognizing it much later,
understand the small crab-walking
and find that there will be times
when they are unable
to keep from falling asleep.
I know, standing on a particular beach,
today’s shore in my life,
that their future, mine, all of ours,
is to hear a rooster’s crow,
that brings tears that hurt
but still makes rainbows in our eyes,
and reminds us of love
that always names the morning.