Laughter creased my face
With the wideness of joy in a darling
Hallooing loudly, Hawaii!
Making me younger with weakly wrinkles,
It warmed my heart with a flaming ring of mirth.
And I liked it.
I watched the waves as they rose and fell,
Like the big flattered locks of a comely
Landlady combing her tresses on a windy, snoopy
Sunday morning.
And I loved it.
Who are next to be loved?
Lucy & Lucille.
One laughs
The other winces with laughter
When cold fleeting winds blow over
Our inchoate sensibilities.
And we love it —
Like we loved Lucy.
When fog creeps in to sheathe
the point, obscuring paths
among the brush, unseen loons,
hallooing one another,
map out this realm
of hemlock, rock, and water.
Loon cries vivify fireside
conjuring, old camper’s tales,
for the point’s new children:
they glimpse fabled elders,
conveyers of craft and lore
who made a mile or more
of winding roadway through
cut and cultivated trees.
Loon cries reassure us
as we sit in circled peace.
The birds know where they are
and so do we.
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