I know I need to write a poem
but I’d rather go to Kona, rather
turn myself blue, sapphire, aqua, cobalt, azure.
Rather be poured, would rather stream
I’d rather melt between the O and her two H sisters.
Susurration over sand. Silk salt sift.
I’d rather go and forget my name
hang halted over sleeping eels
confuse the fish, confuse the sky with other blues.
I’d rather go to Kona.
The poem will write itself.
