Waving Idly From Afar

By Dominick Takis

Like the wind I work my way through the tall grass of the crater.

A place of rare emergence, it is named for ‘ihi ihilauakea’

who between drought and flood

sleeps under the hardened mud

and in the languid shade

dreams are draped like a clover lei in this dry and wordless place.

The thorny brush scrapes the canvass,

its rhythmic sway is the sea that lifts a finger

to paint and texture the horizon far away.

Like the path I am worn by generations of footsteps.

Boots dusty from the factory

contrast starkly

with the starched white wedding tunic

fitting like a luminous shell

dropped from greater heights

to speak of sacrifice

and the miracle of being alive,

within the crevices of myriad choice,

a clinging crustacean

against the immensity of waves

drowning out the tiny voice.

Words were meant to be an offering

but the sky makes short work of my ambition

as spray begets beads on lava rock,

more sweat is necessary.

I lift my eyes to read

the careless cursive in a pattern of birds.

Cryptic signs from those lost at sea

come to me at dawn.

My makeshift empathy is tattered by the wind

but still waving a thin, forgotten banner faded with time.

Best to replace messages with rhyme

flagpoles with fishing line,

to see what can be drawn from the deep

instead of waving idly from afar.

I couldn’t claim any of this as my own.

An elusive silhouette against the sky,

paper cutout to the hillside,

raised shade in the veil of clouds just passing by.

I did not obstruct the wind

but lent an animated note

to its continuous hymn.

I did not construct the unknown

but bent my craft to its every whim

before letting go.

Dominick Takis was born in Salem, Massachusetts, and educated in Boston. He’s a writer and consummate wanderer.

“A SHARED SPACE” is an ongoing reader-submitted column. To share your story, email coconnor@midweek.com