Today, you lost tract of the sun,
its rays, bright and blinding, telling
you of other ways to get to the hunt.
We live in cities, true, but we
are savages for that which saves
us from having all the trouble
in these dire times when to travel
is to move with unsteady feet
like the unsure hand on the steering
wheel when mornings come as distractions
from the good life we should receive.
You have lost your way before
in this same freeway by the stretch
of fields and burial sites
the Hawaiian people say we have
no right to cement, make monstrous
visions out of rails and streets
jungle pavements where we rush
to navigate what silences we need to learn
when we reach the place where we work,
all of us, from the time we set foot
in search of what we did not have.
You lost your way today
when one car did not give
you the chance to move another lane
but push its way to rush ahead
and hit the road one more time
so its driver can sell his sweat
to hotels and tourists and to the sites
and scenes for sale in this city
you have come to.
You take the other route, longer,
with a view to the mountainside,
the sea on your right spilling out in
early morning brilliance, pearly
and radiant, with the luminescence
of a falling star.
You remember to make
the sign of the cross,
one mechanical duty of your hand
you have not done for a while.
Hon, HI
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