we weave a lei
for the Genesee's bow
our men, coming home
dress white
in on-deck formation
my heart thuds
we rush breathlessly
under the arch of swords
white merged with white
the ship
leaves a trail of spume
alone again
five letters
arrive in one batch
'I miss you'
ship shelled,
they limp to the Philippines
two left behind
he tells me
he wants his own space...
the pain of silence
he pulls away
when I kiss him
five years now
bags packed
I still hope he'll beg me
to stay
pauses lengthen
between his words and mine
yearly phone call
an old photo
tumbles from drawer's back
that day, forgotten now
