Silverswords

　　by Juliet S. Kono

　　 At cold daybreak

　　 we wind

　　 up the mountainside

　　 to Haleakala Crater.

　　 Our hands knot

　　 under the rough of

　　 your old army blanket.

　　 We pass protea

　　 and carnation farms

　　 in Kula，

　　 drive through

　　 desolate rockfields.

　　 Upon this one place

　　 on Earth，

　　 from the ancient

　　 lava rivers，

　　 silverswords rise，

　　 startled

　　 into starbursts

　　 by the sun.

　　 Like love， sometimes，

　　 they die

　　 at their first

　　 and rare flowering.