Hawaii

42 floors above Honolulu,

the Kona wind on the windows hums,

detracting from joy of being:

too much sun, too much space,

too much air going over at once.

Anyone would wish to be lower.

Wind.

Hawaii was taken, a prize—Aloha! 

she says, Mahalo for all the concrete and steel

that looks and feels a lot like rape,

never mind nuclear weapons or other

schemes to make Nature hole.

It is done.

Did she ask for this, by being herself?

There was no way around it: she had to be taken

by somebody big. Come again if you will.

You are sure to leave.

The nice thing is, and the trouble too:

nobody manages to preserve

more than Ozymandias did

forever.