Incommunicado


A muzzle of palms yield simple,                     kind civilities

                                                     she’s a ghost in the hospital

no one can see her,

                                                     my mother, the bent light

             bows her head, kneels,

                                       she plays dead for them The crowds

                                                     graze her afterimage

& she flickers a little,

             flickers to being elsewhere

with Honolulu blues & greens

                          a meeting place

                                                                 where the pearl sky

                                                                              opens

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