April First at Kilauea

In the night rain the volcano’s mouth yawns wide

Water plummets inexorably down that throat

Making a steaming cauldron of liquid rock soup

Lei of vapors swirl about the cauldera
Deep gorges fluff with heady steam
Dark forest breath redolent of wet orchids
Underfoot browned fern fronds feel to be sponge

Dogs sleep peacefully in the corners of the house

This is the rainforest

Wetter than the ocean 

Where if fish could fly they would be in their element

We are water

Dry is a phantom

Here, you know the truth of us