Familiar taste;
sort of like popcorn,
but without butter
and somehow...
trippier.

So much more precious than mere popcorn;

Break down my barriers of sense and intuition;
make raw my calloused mind of predisposition.

Take me back to primordial mind
before anything knew chains;
unconfined.

Please, oh please let me be a prism for the Divine
even if for a short window of time
tear down the barriers constructed by and for Mind
and once more remind me of what I have yet to lose.

Shadows sway and morph and overflow
as Shadow morphs and sits for tea;
please, oh please let me learn from this
slightly less than blissful experience
for I know that I've yet so much to learn.

I feel like all that is worth writing is lost on most who can read;
it is futile to write certain feelings and insights for I know that they just as easily arise elsewhere.
The truest of truths will be thought of by another prism.

Even so, it is best to drudge through this sense of folly
and try to reflect upon the truisms that feed away at my waking mind
in hopes that they will find a host amongst deserving minds.

A singular cloud
Floats in the blue,
Cotton candy
I'd like to chew.
Make a stick
With your finger,
Hurry, clouds
Don't usually linger.

Now it's a galleon
In full sail,
Leaving a wake
In a wispy tail.
It sails the sky
Without a crew,
The Flying Dutchman
Sails from view.

Now a cauliflower cloud,
Folding in upon itself,
With dark green leaves
At its base,
Add melted cheese
For added taste.

A lamb, a hand,
A face, a pillow,
This cloud morphs
As lovers do.
One minute
I can see a form,
Then becomes
Part of the storm.

But it's as if you’re ****** into the page on which you sit so precariously. You realize his eyes have become weird again, throbbing to the beat of your love. He looks away, leaning back on his hands, arms taught. And you sit as if alone, watching him tear a piece off your history and craft a paper airplane from your devotion, fingers gently folding and creasing, lovingly shaping, his head turning, focusing, admiring. And when he is satisfied, he throws it with a flick of his pale wrist. It sails beautifully through the air, buoyed by affection and adoration, leaping through the gusts with pride. You reach out a hand willing it to come to you, wanting something so tender for yourself, for your gasping heart. But as you lean in, poised with glory, a thief melts from a burning tree, morphs from the shadows, an ugly, beaten creature, scaly and peeling. It slinks foreword catching the plane in its mottled claws, pinching it slightly as your lover lets out a small gasp, eyes widening. The creature places it inside the steel bars over its heart and suddenly the thing changes and becomes lovely, blooming and whole, an infection of grace and slender frame. Fragrance floats back to you as you cower and your lover looks at the lovely figure descending upon him and you scream and scream, seizing and foaming, something mad, unwanted, hidden from sight. But he is no more than smoke; naked body drooling, jagged blades protruding from his back; and where his heart should have been, there are only iron bars. He turns and howls, an alien sound, unreal, lips curling back, twisting and forcing his screeching notes into your chest smothering your mind. But finally you have had enough; finally you understand, finally you find strength to pull apart the stitching and release yourself and you fall.

The gagged voices
scuttling about,
in my living room they attempt to bicker.
The dim light flickers.
A shadow darts through them.
I carry on sleeping.

The voices open up,
traces of asylums fill in the gaps,
a trace of darkness grasps and
cloaks at life.

Desperately I fight for rest,
the asylum morphs
into a public square.

The voices start screaming,
skeletons dancing,
I run downstairs to find
shattered christmas tree ortements.
The shattered pieces form more beauty than
the ortements ever could have.

The skeletons impossibly loud, up in smoke
laughing watching me
mumbled gibberish,
to some and me
until I hear my voice in chorus.

A for Alcoholic
she mutters noiselessly
to her cherub feigning sleep
in his night mare infested crib.

B for Brute
which her Knight
morphs into every night
inflicting invisible
whiplashes on
her now rusted dreams


C for the curse
which befell on
their marital vows
the day he first touched
the stinking bottle


D for Death
she sreams to the silent night
which comes neither to her
nor HIM...

Shadows
No longer mere figures following me
Developing minds of their own
They seek liberation from the commands of my feet
To fully manipulate me

Roads
Morphs into labyrinths before my eyes
Entrapping me into the darkness
Its unceasing modification disorients me severely
A thriving attempt to hold me captive

Stars
Lose their jaunty sparkle in the tenebrous sky
Turning into prying eyes whose gazes burn my skin
They observe me like a peculiar specimen
I am not alone

Songs
Begin to sound discordant to my ears
Reverberating vociferously across my room
Strident tunes thwack my skull mercilessly
Unable to think

Mind
Fails to function properly
Unhinging the helpless one
Its thoughts are chaotic, and in shambles
Another man is lost

Was it you, who burned a city
At my fingertips?
I’ll blame it
On the rampaging fire wildflowers
Suffocating California.
Either way, I cannot breathe.

What haunts me?
It’s you, isn’t it.
The 12-33, code 12-56,
No help is coming,
“Refusal to comply” morphs to “missing persons,” reporting
The silence.
The screech, the blip
Of a scanner, seeing red,
Like I could hear the pain
Of a few thousand shaken children
Who lost
Their mothers
To a cloud of noxious smoke.

That’s what haunts me.
Isn’t it.
Children, charred and homeless,
Roaming crumbling streets.

That’s what haunts me.

hey you
with the eyes and the hair
sprouting from the brilliant head i'm yet to recognize
here i am, with nothing left to lose
life's been pretty giving, but pretty unfair.
the weight of living morphs in size

because when two pairs of shoulders
hold it together
it seems so much lighter,
doesn't it?

all those age old mistakes
were made for you
so i could learn how to piece me together
and see what we will make,
will you be ready too?

i can't wait to meet you,
whether we have or not,
i cannot wait to love you
the same and one, a true love knot.

I stare, intently.  He glances momentarily.
With its big calf eyes,
the skin peeling away from its lids
and its hides.
They float by, I gaze quickly at their popped peepers
which are skinned like white grapes,
and they go about their day.
I love them, them and their color palate,
their unique selection.
Bloated and baggy, bubbling up,
it looks so goofy that I cannot stand it.
My mouth gapes at the dazzling gold bands,
the alternating tan lines, the glow-in-the-dark marks,
the cool blues and the light blues alike.

They seem startled and pouty.  But what to do about the ****?
They cannot leap the glass and twirl with us,
dance with me, fly past the current ripping by.
Poor things…how they wish they were wild,
undomesticated and free.  They want to be near us.
I see it in the gestures of their prehensile *****
that smear the glass as they press in,
trying to chart our turbulent patterns.

I wonder in my head how they breathe so easily,
flopping about their blue-tinted box,
drinking deep the LOx
fed in through a tube somewhere
as the world morphs and vibrates between us.
It is full of grey energy.  Like a cloud in a lightning storm.  Ever changing.

Today I’m happy. Ecstatic. Or as they used to say, ‘over the moon’. And rightly so. Why? Because I’ve finally figured out my ideal career and I can’t believe I hadn’t thought about it any soon.

It’s the kind of career of which I don’t have to worry about any flaw. I can even lose weight. I will never again have to worry about my hair, or  blemished skin, my thighs, the heat, or wearing anything on my feet. I don’t have to worry about being too this or being too that or that I’m growing too this and growing too that. All I have to do is -

Swim.

Yes, you've guessed correctly. I want to become a mermaid.

And not just any Ariel!

I want to swim to the depths of the ocean, with sea horses, colourful fish and tame sharks. Swim to the sunrise and sunset with a school of merry dolphins beneath a starry sky. Feel the rain splashing my already soaked hair and dye it too. Have a beautiful sea green tail and wear sea shells in my hair. Scare people away with my long, sharp nails and eerie tales. Steal precious items such as toothpicks from ships (while my tail morphs into twigs). Be surrounded by the colour blue and eat algae until my last peek-a-boo (and water some plants too).

I want to listen to the crushing waves and sing to the silver moon while I spit like a sailor (and swear like one too). I want to brush my hair with a fork and paint my nails through. I want to be surrounded by a rainbow – all colours too.  


Why don’t do such dreams come true?

A mother in one hand
and a child in the other.
Learning love
from giving love,
I don't want to feel any different.

something of a poison enters my perception
and I shift my paradigm.
confidence is key!
I'll let you lock me and shock me
and feed me on my knees until
fear morphs into pleasure.

your ability to open your soul,
all fractions,
some fractured,
others perfectly aligned,
gives me the healing that's been hiding.
so, I send it back in rapid laps,
guiding you through my mind.

the best I can do with translation
is to tell you thoughts exactly as I think them,
decode with tone, and expression. touch you from the heart out
a mental connection, understanding that goes beyond simply understanding.
two thoughts become one.

darkness becomes light
but the colors don't shift.
truth becomes private
it's none of their business, (sorry friends).
help becomes natural
there's no more effort to this repairing
than there is to breathing while you sleep.

my distance holds hands with you, sweetness.
sometimes skin touching skin is never enough,
but just the thought of you brings me complete:
I need no more than what I've already been given,
but I'll accept whatever you send my way, promising
to give you as much and more,
all I can until I'm sore.
Even then I still wont let it stop me.
One foot in the front  of the other,
I'll live moment by moment,
hoping the ones away from you move faster,
so that my feet will meet your feet,
face in front of the other,
your eyes reflect me, and in mine
you look deep and keep looking.
Telling me what you see, I translate
what I can from your observations:
I love you,
but there's so much more to it.

When a soul dreams upon a sleepless star,
it unfolds through the seas twinkling of its eye.

On the night upon the star's last plight,
it's frail old soul morphs into Starfish,
amid sand, shells and violet light.

Music springs from my fingers, meandering melodies take form

Morose meanings manifest, manipulating the masses.

My meaning is hidden , mirrors obscure my message.

Maybe there is no truth, the message is a mirage.

Mystifying miasma clouds my mentality

Megalomania, morphs music form within

Meaning goes missing, lost in the endless white noise.

the smooth brush of fingers against my face
morphs into steel against my hips
pulling, dragging
the remnants of your words
spoken so harshly, as if a command
leave red stripes on my body
tracing every imperfection with the violent caress
only found in a blade
carving you into me
over and over again

shh, please be quiet
don't tell me I'm beautiful
because the place where I keep
my collection of lies
is running out of
skin.

We all have a door.

A door that when people knock, we can let in.

A door that we can push people out as well.

Once you exit the door, it's hard to re-enter.

Especially when the owner of the door made you exit.

So, please.

Keep me in.

For God's sake keep me in.

I can only push and shove against you so long before it gets

tiresome after every attempt to shove me out.

I understand how this is though; this, thing consumes you.

It takes the best part of you and pushes it

not just out the door, but in a black bottomless pit where

all the happiness can never even try to return.

It ***** up everything good you have in this world

and makes it all seem wrong. You keep all the bad

which it morphs itself into words you say to yourself

and the muscles in your body to give you that

ability to push people away.

But please, with all you can,

don't push me out.

If you do, I'll understand. And I'll try to stay

with all the strength I can muster up,

because I did this to you once, and now

I understand how it feels to be this alone.

But please, don't push me out for long,

because I want to stay.

But I'm not that strong to take you on.

The bad things keep getting stronger and

I'm afraid I won't be staying.

But I won't give up without a fight.

I'll fight even when my armor is broken

and my muscles are tired.

I won't give up.

I just won't.

To find the serenity of the motherly womb, to submerge in the fluidity of silence, here one can learn to honor their experience of life as a precise pronouncement of each moment, and sense ALL presence as if it were in suspended animation… One must release, let go and dive into the unknown to seek out undercover, underwater….braced and insulated in its deep protective cocoon. To cross through the boundary of known (air) into unknown (water) one must accept the transmutation of the senses which naturally accentuates and morphs our awareness, mainly allowing one to experience the perception of time not as an intangible lightness but rather as an encompassing heaviness of each moment (the timelessness of the moment).

It is in the stillness of this immaculate silence that one can recognize and revel in this Power so mystifying, The Power of complete fluidic unity, The harmony of moving together as ONE. Here is the revelation revealed and the recognition unquestionable. It is here in this spiritual space where one has truly submitted oneself to honor GOD’s immaculate depths.

Within this acknowledgement one becomes able to appreciate the irrefutable resemblance and likeness of this experience to the unity of the shifting energies expressed in the Ethers that is GOD above. There is no fear of wandering aimlessly as you are now moving with the coherence of the cosmic tides forever. In this rapture one experiences transcendence and drifts profoundly in the Knowingness.

To love the dawn.
Not the sunrise,
But the moment
The black, gray world
Morphs to color.

To love the dawn.
Not the daybreak,
But the dark blues
As they emerge
To make color.

To love the dawn.
Not the morning,
But the changes
From the dullness
To a pale sky.

To love the dawn.
Not goodbye moon,
But hello life,
When greenery
Gives way to red.

To love the dawn.
Not hello day,
But a rainbow,
Every dawn.
Birthing color.

sticky sweet molasses flowing down your smooth sensual body
but before i know it
it morphs into blood, the rick dark color turning to a thin red

and before i know it
you are gone

ten years later
i visit your grave
i place flowers on the headstone
i remember you
but do you remember me?

<!>
inspired by a conversation with Maira Kalman


******* a name, adopt a persona, let my fingers do the talking,
place the instrumental sharp point tip upon the blankety blank paper,
maestro baton raised, coordinating,
the first sound, the vocal chords trembling,  
the first thought, the ultrasound image, entrance of a first violin,
coalescing into, into the initializing single primary phonation,
the stinging geometry of chance at last,
throwing  down the gauntlet, glove slapping, and the
tendons tense, the mouth opens, release and indentation,
a letter's curvature, a black and white downward stroking,
a sign is televised, revealed and released

a one way only sign

time bends knee, gravity suspended, terror morphs to
expelling rapid firefights of imagery needy for spacing,
even pauses mid-word  leave just this:

where is the in in
intimate?

are you the in in
inmate,
or the jailor at the gate?

you swear never again

until committing once more,

a sentence commutation, by committing a first sentence,

and the greater toll taken and paid for,

and the in in in-nate,
questions your sanity

happily


<•>

9/17/17 10:55pm

If peace were a state we all agree to imagine, a state
we
envision as uni-
versal in any song, peace, calm, flowing deep, state
of being
in any man, wombed or un,
in any family, any tribe, any deme of agreements unbreakable,
any hermit cell

any bubble of believing generating proper people to fit
tradition and mystery myths without

re-tying truth to may, the verb. That's vainity.  
Religion.
(re-ligamentation,
like muscle to bone wit sinyew,
same stuff strangs a bow, for a fiddle ora arrow,
y'know)
that's somethin' else.
Religion could mean read the instructions, too.
All together
----
stopping to live. slowing, not stopping. pre-stop.

whisper,
say, earth,
hey, earth,
can you hear you now?

---
the dictator dictated the dictionary,
he/she/we/me

learned to speak as spoken to, in the boss tongue.
Ma or pa,
or whosover was fustus wit d'mostus
taught the good ol' boys.

But wisdom saw a way. We've been woven in a story.
We are in the code. Ethos, Pathos, Logos.
Those old Greeks examined them some life, I'd say.

Language rules the iron fist's grip,
meaning empowers
laxation, re
loose
gut brain pain fraught fear of the iron fist crimping
the flow of solidity
punch in the gut

Knock thashitoff! Now, flush

in ifity, boo, be bop, I'm an ice cream cone,

like those alien ones, mebbe,
moving stones the weight of 737s,

my cones of power defy your hour of suffering patient
per fection of...

what, wait, allusion to "Let patience have her perfect work"
what is her perfect work?
Quote that San Francisco band. Oh. Did that. Love.

you ask. The reality I see, you say, no, I say, me.

I am patience, the feminine form, 's perfect work.
Patients must put up with me,
you see

----
fear is terror's weapon, am i right?

And it is written, the fear of the LORD (KJV)
yhwh, in the unsayable way, God's name, only name, eh

is why that started?
Old Job let out a yelp, hey, earth is great, but you have no idea
how this feels.
You know lots of stuff I don't know, but mortality is not one of em,
as far as I can tell.
How 'bout a referee betixt us?

Hey, sus, pect me a spectacle

of the great contro
verse un ifiable, unif, once possible now, nullift.

got it.
Every other direction known. Take a fearless, peaceful-
feeling
path past all that.
Peace, be unto  you, earth. For my part.
The examined life is worth the living. You are in this one with me,
a very important part, an object, an aim to see what

could be there, a like mind, washed ashore.
----

A.P.I. Art Pax Intel

act as if they are listening with interest, paying
actual
attention, add pieces
of life stuff

I am 71, my window is my horizon, or
better said,
my horizon is my window. I have mini-horizons,
i think
like this... chromebook attached at finger tips,
I can and may be making some counter wave that clears
the crypto frost from my window to your
realm.

Who took your may? Do you recall the day?

It was a teacher who took my may,
but I won my can, That's a plotted point, I
ponder on my porch
partaking in curds of ways to do so saline a work

Fantasy education system U of old dudes like me,
tired old dudes who have no desire to argue,

but, really, don't tread on me.

the old greeks were at rest, the slaves were under control
but we old American men in twenty nineteen
we have A.I. and pensions enough,
my examination can go far deeper than Aristotle's.

Part taker, trope positions, anonymous wisemen's roles in
this generational take on
we, the people, by realization, not revelation
of the
traditional worth of wisdom found under hoary
or shiny-fringed heads and grey beards and
amplified through ear hair
like antennae.

Admiring and worth. Hmmm.
Mira, look upon the ozimandian heir and
wonder, why am I a part of this, an eight billionth of this

interesting time of changed time,
time duration,
it is known relative now,
a precocious child of twelve can explain the paradox.
But time travel, imagine...
The ships,
The captains venturing where... slaves and would-be thieves
would, or could be made to, row or man the ropes,
whether any sweating soul endured to the end,
or not,
Who cares-- we recall only the history of kings.

Aha, there were teachers paid to teach
Admire-alty of the strong who keep us free within our walls.
That was the meme, be like
obediant to
the man on the horse.

Extreme Narcissist rises as the needed leader, least meek
of men morphs materially into the Nuclear God?
the opposite of peacemaker becomes hero?

Endure. In your patience, you possess...

Here's the deal. Life ain't fair. No war ever worked to settle
the mixup over the actual reason
for con fusion. Fusion sticks stuff together that has a pro

pensity to repel.
En-trope, we wrestle that, we fight it with
weapons un-carnal on any fractal level where matter matters.

Settle down, we say, by being at rest, fretless.
Let my peace, you say, come in me,

now, in your bubble of peace,
where no damnation can exist, begin
to grow, feed on knowledge proven no lie.
Start with one, unproven
reason you have for laying down or taking lifetime from anyone,
or for anyone.

Plus and minus, up and down. Mere words.
Confusion is mashing things together to make stuff

like earth. You look close, **** augmented us,
we inherited the only biosphere in the known universe,

and some ******* hell's angel wannabe...

Nope. Fractally can't happen, time being duration, not
an arrow on a gravity bound arc.
From "it is finished' going viral,
Nailed it,
no contest.
Yep, peace makers won. Deck was stacked.
The idea of the act of
Nuclear war launched the tyranny of phobias,
including an old idol word bound fear.
Logophobia
fear of God idea is the beginning of wisdom. think this, what if

wisdom began in you when you imagined the evil
men have realized from their shared imagings,
Logos imagined it first. What if that?

for lack of vision,
my people perish. AH, fractal up
about a thousand Mandelbrot tics, okeh.

Did we come away with treasure, or are we lost in the war game?

---
how many is enough to make the effort,

ef fective effort to learn.... check. didit, still am. one's enough.

ef fective effort to use the learning right ... check, workin' on it.

Whee gotta cut some traditional slack to the clowns
who keep the poor man happy for the hell of it,

y'know, life's hard at the bottom.

but it ain't
no fun.
And happy minds bounce. No lie. Bi-polar on demand, kinda.

K'mon down. The price is right. Got moonshine in the evenin',
after-the-cool-of-the-day, unquiet late spring night,
Stars aplenty,

laid back, leanin' on the tree of all I can ever know or
ever know
already. Ever knowing, you know. Feels good. Starry night,

in focus, with our shared augmented eyes beyond

the base-bubble of life, where I fit.

---- bored old man? is that pathetic, or what?---
Is this a good that you can do, asked, but I allowed no quest to form.

The point of any story in my mandlebrot set of stories never imagined,
is why I make the daily efforts, find the point, mark it a peaceful
place at the end of a hard row to ***.

Making the point in ever, where you notice your role,
this is the peacmaker's privilege, for the prize of playing your role,
the rest that remains, is mine to use right, examing life
amidst confusion you may have stirred up on your own way here.

D A Y L I G H T:
⠀
In my premature years, black licorice had always been my favorite treat, as it evoked memories of my favorite bird: the crow. It was something like a token of my admiration. Laid in a brittle bed of crisp-like-fall leaves, eyes that were once much bigger would gaze at the sky and see it as a continuation of the ocean. I assumed there was more distance, more leaves, more crows; because the ocean was never just the boats that wavered on the surface.
⠀
I never apprehended that throughout the day is when crows are most distinguishable. Their ebony cutouts, nefarious eyes, and visibly oily obsidian tones contrasted greatly against my favorite element of day – they rode through clouds like mere puddles of fog. Their squawking did not reverberate as boundlessly, nor did it ricochet against the buildings and quivering pine trees. The morning time is when the crows divulge in their breakfast meal, sipping dew from the tallest blades of grass while dressed all in black. It is never the question of, “did you hear that?” or “what was it?”. The crow is the crow as the pigeon is the pigeon.
⠀
⠀
N I G H T F A L L:
⠀
When the world is cloaked with its darkest twinges of night is when the crows become the /crows/, disappearing into their forest lairs. There, they resemble storm clouds that crackle with an aloof thunder regardless of hovering just overhead like a guilty conscience. At night, their hell reigns on a foreshadowed sanctuary – a repetitive funeral, Satan himself occupying a casket made from twigs, the flesh of mice, and children’s shoelaces. Your mind morphs into an unhinged vault, where they prowl and feed on your visions, and devour your common sense. They dilute your integrity with ingenuity.  The crow is no longer something vexatious, but rather you are - an intruder - and he, above you in every sense of the word.
⠀
I lie here now, patient as the sun’s shift ends and a somber veil falls over relative land. I no longer face the obligation of licorice, and instead between my teeth resides the root of a sleek, onyx feather. “Sono vivo gui.”

I have a very intriguing nerve to ask you what this is, now
But I fear if we gave it a name it would destroy itself, like everything I touch
If these voices in my head are accurate, which they usually are
I know that you know that we know that we've surpassed into the "more"
Because you could not say that this is nothing
This is not nothing
This is not nothing
But we only acknowledge it in those seconds we collide and ignite within our eyes beyond our bodies
Then, crash, our own individual chemicals released
Swirling around our helpless brains, breathing heavily
Our oxygen caught up in the smoke
Our hearts caught up with our actions
Realizing how vague the rules seem now, wanting to break them
Wanting to connect, wanting to run away from the temptation
Of falling madly and deeply...
No, the strength inside gained from loss before will not let me
I can, and will, resist to mention
Oh, but it feels so...
No, dopamine poisoning has taken control, this is only a passing wave
Or is it?...
Everything just disintegrates and morphs along the scale of time
We have mistakenly created an inpenetratable boundary
A barbwire fence, but the dark side taunts me to make my hands bleed attempting to climb over
I just want to see what it would be like...
I pull myself back together, pull my shirt back over my head
Solidify my own intentions, withstand inside my translucent shell
For we are water and if we are not contained we would leak everywhere.

Each day is a surprise
Everyday we're a little closer, to our demise
We live, laugh, love, and cry
Sometimes holding on, when we should be saying bye
Succeed in the present
Reflect on the past
Prepare for the future
Tough times you'll outlast
It starts with a dream
Then morphs to a vision
The journey is what matters
This is only the beginning

Rising before instinct completes my sleep, rousing common sense out of bed,
I pack the car.  It's so dark the moon is still drowsing.
Soon I am in the cool ocean, arms propelling me and a surfboard,
stomach submerged and chest free through white water splashes,
then crests breaking, then up and over their shoulders
to arrive at the very place where waves emerge from calm water.

At this hour there are only a handful of other dawn-patrol surfers, all Hawaiians.
Greeting with a smile of bright grace learned from the sun, and a cheerful How'z It?
brown glowing skin tattooed with small triangle patterns on strong arms, chests, backs,
emblems of kama'aina heritage and Aloha's honor.  
A little talk story, sharing a laugh, and I sit up to take sentinal,
beginning the quiet meditation
searching the horizon for the sea's ever-changing intention.

Morning wakes color, with sleepy palms rubs away the world's hushed gray veil
revealing sky blue on royal aquamarine and palm-tree green silhouetting tropical canyon jade.
The mountain's gold-rimmed halo of mist is announcing dawn's imminent arrival.
She bursts over the ridge, arms showering the water with tiny pebbles of light
gold jewels skipping across the sparkling surface and turning silver.

It must be so beautifully curious from below, the whale's eye view here in their sanctuary.
First we see a mysterious dark shape, a nose, that morphs into an ever-expanding building,
that materializes into the entire magnificent whale suspended in our thin world
then arching over, she bursts the water, scattering dawn's sparkling treasure.

We surfers call with uncharacteristic exclamations, pointing in excitement,
So close we can feel the whale's contagious joy.
One Hawaiian woman slides off her board, to place her ear on the water in reverie;
hearing the Kahunas ancient Aumakua call.