The following was written to a Manoa girl named Mercury, and was
originally dated 3:17 p m, May 28, 2001:

Manoa was a valley quite as green
As any valley ever known to man,
And even now yet trickles there a stream
Where long ago a mighty torrent ran.

Twas there quite late in spring of 01
I chanced to walk beneath the midday sun.
From shuttered windows mama-sans observed,
And warned small girls against Magyar and Hun.

Twas by the bridge I turned into the wood,
My heart hard-pressed to flee the roaring herd,
Twixt scraggly bows and scraps of rusting iron
To pine for croak of frog or cry of bird.

Ah, yes, Manoa, I yet can well recall
Those days when on your slopes I rolled in ferns
And sang my song in forests undisturbed by man,
And for those slopes and days my heart yet yearns!

But now descending slowly by the bank,
And looking up, I stopped to face a man!
Not two yards off he sat upon a rock,
His face so wild I nearly turned and ran!

His hairs, what hairs he had, were growing gray.
His eyes were clearly blind, his skin like sand,
And from his drooping lids the salt tears ran
And shown and tumbled sparkling to the strand.

He did not see me, nor had he yet heard
My silent footsteps on the basalt stone.
And though I saw and knew him to be blind,
I dared not watch while he thought him alone.

"Good morning, sir!" said I.  He hid his tears.
Be this the shortcut to St. Francis dorm?
Does yon trail lead from here to Tropic Ag?
Is that up there the Tin Cathedral's form?"

Recov'ring his composure he declared,
"I cannot tell, for I see nothing now,
Nor saint, nor kirk, nor Tropic Ag, nor Hell,
Yet blind I sit and wait beneath this bow."

"Then what," quoth I, "do you await alone
Upon this rock, beneath this overhanging bow?
Are you like me to love the croaks of frogs,
The cries of birds, and insects' row?"

"Ah yes, but no," and "Maybe so", quoth he.
"But in this air somehow I do feel Mercury."
"Ah, so," said I, sensing insanity.
"In them thar hills you think is Mercury?"

"In them thar hills, or perchance by this brook."
No, maybe he was thinking after all!
"Quite right," said I, rememb'ring long ago.
Saw some myself beside the waterfall.

"It oozed from mud beneath the bamboo tree,
And now they say it blights this perfect stream,
And no one knows from whence it came but I,
Who drew it from the mud and saw its gleam."

"Ah yes, but no," and "Maybe so", quoth he.
"But I was speaking of another Mercury."
And so I thought again, but could not tell
What tack now sailed this mind that spoke to me.

Was he some prof at university,
And was it Rome that gripped his fantasy?
"Ah, swift Mercurius, messenger of the gods,
He, God of trade, travel, and thievery!"

"Ah yes, but no," and "Maybe so", quoth he.
"But 'swift'?  I did na think of her for speed.
And as for 'he', I always thought of 'she',
But this by voice alone, and not by deed!"

And then it was upon some chance recall
I knew where I had seen this man before,
And even his fantastic Mercury.
I need not bother now to question more.

"Ah, yes, the same sweet Mercury!" quoth I.
"With shoulders broad and carbon hair and eye!
I know her well from Zippy's in the dell!
I shall not mention breast nor hip nor thigh!

So sit you here for Merc?" asked I awry.
And at our feet the magic stream flowed on.
"Ah yes," said he, "for Merc and wind and sun.
For Murphy's law can ne'er be broke by brawn.

"And sun thou seest, and wind, and night, and stars.
And Merc be there somewhere in them thar hills.
And if she CAN come to this stream and find me here,
And time permits, she will if but she wills!

And time permit and kiss she can and wills,
Then surely she will kiss me also here
Beneath this bow, beside these hills!
These are the laws that rule our land, no fear!"

And looking on, I thought myself of chance,
And Murphy's law, and dust, and stars, and knew
That everything he said was true, except
That Mercury's red lips would first turn blue!

And so I bade him careful adieu.
And as I walked I thought how even I
Had often walked confused beneath these bows,
Chewing on pink guavas in days gone by.

I thought of sunlit days and nights and stars,
and how the world Had spun these trees in vain
Through eerie nights beneath the silent moon
And how I wished the past could live again.

Past Earth and Venus toward the blazing sun,
Now bend thy path, o swift Mercurius,
And to the stars now sing this unsung song,
And tell this tale to the universe:

Manoa was a valley quite as green
As any valley that has ever been.
Yet full of folly, old Manoa Valley
Lies just as daft as any valley ever seen!