Kolea Bird
Half a second from wingbeat
to wingbeat,
two days and two nights
above the giant desert of water,
three thousand miles
from Alaska to Hawaii.
Across Hilo Bay
the first stars rise. Constellations
assume their wandering station.
Orbit by orbit, season by season:
perfection past tongue and feather.
You may think you recognize
this tyranny:
to pause once is to forsake
the garland of arrival —
hibiscus unfolding dawnward,
trumpet flowers stooping to kiss
the rare earth.