It happens every time I return to Hawai`i,
The place I used to call Home; that place that seeded
My mind with memories so strong they penetrate
All of my nights whether I dream of it or not.
The green slopes of the Koolaus framed my every
Morning, as I took those bright cliffs of green
For granted, little knowing how their slopes were
seeping
Into my mind long before I settled in Seattle.
Now, whether I go back to Honolulu for a few days
Or a few weeks, once I get back on the plane,
Get back to what I now call home, the old
Home turns again into a dream as if I had not
Been there at all. Or been there in a dream.
Or perhaps the dream is what is now. Or so it seems.
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