Barry Casey
Euphemism
For Lahaina
This is the fate of some:
to rise in golden mornings,
to take their coffee black, set out
for work and not return.
Three billion slices through the air,
each one the edge of something.
A child peers ahead for home
before the darkness takes her.
A truth conspires to be uttered,
how the fire devours the world.
Why the light still breaks like glass,
bells and blood-pump clanging fast.
The sea-wave rises, moorings shift,
all lights on shore are washed away.
The unnamed rides in dark and cold
upon the heavy tide.
It swells and gathers, moving slow,
faceless as a falling wall.
The names they speak into a well,
each self returning to itself.
For Lahaina
This is the fate of some:
to rise in golden mornings,
to take their coffee black, set out
for work and not return.
Three billion slices through the air,
each one the edge of something.
A child peers ahead for home
before the darkness takes her.
A truth conspires to be uttered,
how the fire devours the world.
Why the light still breaks like glass,
bells and blood-pump clanging fast.
The sea-wave rises, moorings shift,
all lights on shore are washed away.
The unnamed rides in dark and cold
upon the heavy tide.
It swells and gathers, moving slow,
faceless as a falling wall.
The names they speak into a well,
each self returning to itself.