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Wild Pig Bamboo, a Poem
His hair was as long as a lullaby,
and we left the well traveled roads
to others not so brave;
Winding up on wild pig trails,
reddish loam like rusted blood
sun filters thru bamboo green,
a color newer than birth-
interwoven mad green,
comforted and claustophobic in turns...
wild pigs barreled round
and round us, unruly children,
the bamboo they displaced
shaking like wild tribe spears;
stone amphitheater, no one sees
water falling down half-moon,
a secret cup they say
holds Queen Kameiameia's tears
just once a year...
midday sun merciless to others-
we're hidden, woven tightly inside
an emerald casket.
the top is reached, the sun rediscovered,
a moment's savoring-
and we race all the way down
flip flops slapping, then breaking,
on the downward slope,
I dart back , scooping up the sandal,
laughing and winded,
I lose by a few feet...
but am satisfied, exhilarated...
we stand in the pasture
hands braced on knees...
laughing, breathing hard,
almost as sweet as that night
with his hair, long as a lullaby
singing me a song.