During almost any severe storm,
nene geese huddle around Kilauea and Ninini lighthouses
on this island of Kauai, like some posse of dark-eyed sailors,
They occasionally honk while listening to the newest symphony of rain,
surrounded by sound, slicing through wet skies above low, thick fog.
In daylight, storm now receded, nenes prefer to browse, stroll, or pose
for tourist photos, perhaps knowing their neck stripes
and verifiable rarity makes them more appealing,
a study in black-gray contrast and clarity.
They waddle-pad around on lush, soaking-wet grass of lawns
meant to welcome tourists without using words.
The geese walk soberly, except for intermittent tail-waggle,
rarely pausing to consider plumeria or purple orchids.
They are dedicated to maintaining their perky, patrolling stance,
protecting their favorite coves, serene sea water shining in the distance,
transparent as hope, or wonder, or their own breath,
or perhaps dreams of future goslings.
They pause near banyan trees to watch a sunset
pass from golden glow to resemble bright red globe of a torch ginger flower,
blooming through the very end of brilliance,
while their black-capped heads are held up like darkened coins
to blend into nuances of night
and Kauai’s endless rush of whispering waves.
