William Kelii Kekaula Poet Rhyme

The Velvety Pocket

In the theater of the humming afternoon,
where sunbeams strike the anvil-sky
and thunder plays its jagged, brassy tune,
I walk beneath a muted, violet eye.

Here, the roaring river’s silver spine
is broken, draped in heavy, woolen air.
The band—a roaring, rushing, loud design—
forgets to tell the secrets hidden there.

I shout, but my voice is stolen by a ghost,
a vacuum-mouth that drinks the sonic bloom.
The roaring chaos bows to a silent host,
a quiet tear inside a noisy room.

A velvet shadow, cast by unseen walls,
where trembling echoes die before they wake.
The loudest hush that ever softly falls,
within a dream, a breath I cannot take.

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