by William Gillard
The dusty blooms of June
Gone so soon in a gale
I once walked through Diamond Head
After a typhoon
I arrived on the island
After the deluge
All of the blossoms were on the ground
Entire trees had fallen down, power was out
I arrived afterward but saw the residue
The evidence, what the thing did
But not the thing itself
Ideas dissipate into things
like a dream in the morning.
