at Kona Airport,
when they said I couldn’t board the plane,
I thought I would never see you again,
but I finally arrived, my summer filled
with lasts, and memories of our past,
barefoot on sand and hot pavement,
childhood town, ocean crashing on breakers,
red dirt, climbing trees, and biking
Lahaina, now burnt down, we wondered
if anyone we knew was left, and then you,
too, surrounded by love, to ashes
my sister/cousin/friend “extraordinaire”
gone, your last message at 4:44 a.m.

Still, before light, I wander in shadows
and wet grass, and the rain that never ends,
wondering about the state of the world,
and what pearl you would say,
what artwork, what music, which play,
or scientific article you would share
to make everything seem alright,
to make sense of beauty in a world of pain.