Wings

for Basia

The crisp lines of the three volcanoes

against sky—these speak of the clarity

that shakes down at the end of this magical,

terrible time. It is time, Pele chides,

to doff the cloak of suffering and step

into the golden light that suffuses this land

and beckons, without fanfare, for you

to join it. It’s not about place, it turns out,

and you are indeed free.

Pele laughs because you have always

been free—she released you the moment

you were born to this Island.

And yet, your earnest heart bound you

to it—for a time. For a time. As the static

picture of your life on these four acres

dissolves into a slow fade, remember

what you learned here. About yourself,

what you are capable of.

And do not criticize yourself

when the lessons of these years emerge

nebulous or without clear definition—

it is the job of time to distill them

under your eye. Move forward, released

from the inertia that was never yours

but which you willingly entered—

and now willingly depart. Be as gentle

with your soul as you are with your palms.

All is well, sister. I promise.

And for your kindness, for your compassion

and generosity, there is exponential return

as the new picture takes shape. It will come

into focus—for now, rest easy, knowing that

the colors are right, the shapes inviting and soft.

Know that there is love all around you. Ours

is but a filament in the tapestry of love and light

that you lay over your life each night for sleep.

We thank you. This land thanks you.

Like a magical fairy you have tended it

these many years. Tended the people

who have arrived here, in need of your

soothing gifts. Remember your wings, love.

They have always been there.