I nearly stepped on puffy clouds.
They floated on water the tide left behind.
Pulled like a shared duvet, tugged to the other
Side of the world to the beach at Waikiki,
Inviting itself to a luau.
Granted, the smell of Kalua roasted pig
Is hard to resist.

The sky was poised there, on the puddle.
Below it, a riddle.
Rippled ridges left by the waves to serve
As a memoir or to temporarily dupe us into
Thinking they really were still there.

And where was the souvenir
From Hawaii?
A sliver of pork, a flower from
A lei garland or even grains of exotic sand?

It makes me wonder about faraway beaches
And whether sand from the Skeleton Coast
Is mixed with our own Copper Coast sort.
Maybe even a dash of Caribbean stuff
For good measure?

I lay down on speckled pieces of the world
And I look at clouds from every side.

Catherine Power Evans