Palm fronds from the

window, plums, Plumeria.

When I wake up I smell

ginger in the wind. Pale

tangerine clouds over

Diamond Head. With

the fan off I hear some

one whispering in Chinese,

lie imagining that hand

on a glass of water

near the bed. Unless

you draw the bamboo

tight, the sun moves

between our beds like

a cat let in in the

morning connecting

us loosely. Each bed in

this hotel a bead

threaded in some

bracelet none of us

sees whole

Lyn Lifshin (VA)  is the author of more than 100 books of poetry, most recently, When A Cat Dies, Cold Comfort, and Before it's Light. She is the editor of four anthologies and has appeared extensively in journals such as The Christian Science Monitor, The Cortland Review, Pebble Lake Review, Ploughshares, Typo Magazine, and is a member of the Academy of American Poets.