UMBRA, CITY OF REFUGE, HAWAII, 7/11/91

UMBRA, CITY OF REFUGE, HAWAII,  7/11/91

.
The
Moon bites
the   Sun's  lips.
A circle of darkness:
the umbra descends like a

tent across the barrier of clouds
as if companion light was trapped

deep in the arms of summer, remembering
the past as blue as dreams of fish wanting to

be water, becoming water.  The birds, just finished

with the morning song, begin a hurried evening chorus.

Dawn winds reverse directions. When Perseus threw Med-

usa's shining head into the sea, the algae turned to coral. We

look directly at the sun, and we are not turned to stone.  A chil-


led, primeval silence: stars surround the corona. It's a sun flowering

      iii
        eyeyeye
with serpents of light; a vast  e y e,  a hole opening into the universe.
        eyeyeye
      !!!

But if the moon is moving away from the earth, total solar eclipses


are doomed to extinction.  Between the silhouetted moon's mount-

ains— solar flares, Bailey's beads, & the dazzling diamond ring.

The ocean winds & perplexed birds prepare once again for dawn.

A wild cheer is raised across the island for the prodigal sun.

We clap, cry & rejoice. A couple exchanges wedding vows.

The end of totality,  I break tapu by casting a common-
er's shadow in the City of Refuge, and leave my pik-

ake lei on the stone altar to appease the old gods
but the Ailii are asleep; the sea turtle glides,

a raptor over the sleeping coral. Ris-
ing tides pull at me,  a shim-
mering storm, wanting
to be  air, becom-
ing air.


3/5/92

1992 Chaminade Literary Review

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