By Gary Tachiyama

Every ulua has someone’s name on it
some day I’ll find one with mine
but just as he cast his pole,
she folded the moon in half
and stuffed it in the back pocket
of her faded blue jeans
and walked away on a ridge wave
He would poke squid and speak to kumu
five days after the full moon
and she would sit in shadows
in corners of rooms
in wedding pictures

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