after a rogue wave in 花蓮 (Hualien)

watch sunrise over the Pacific, 
over rumble of pebbles 
tumbled in surf—
world’s giant stone buffer,
susurrus lull belying danger
we ignore, 
distracted by 
gold melting down  
mountains behind us:
cloud-muted sun, 
retracing our migration
spilling over sea’s horizon—
or what we perceive, 
believe despite knowing
its illusion, for
no real boundary bends light 
each human-written dawn 
again, not anew, into
beams like a torch 
shining the way 
we will walk 
into a gorge gilded—
at least to our eyes. 



Exuviae

Cicadas abandon 
exoskeletons on tree trunks. 
Power is what is left behind after 
the emotions, shrieking, careen away, leaving
just husks.

About the author:

L. Acadia is a lit professor at NTU, Writer-in-Residence at Taiwan Literature Base, and Pushcart-nominated member of the Taipei Poetry Collective with poetry in JMWW, New Orleans Review, Strange Horizons, trampset, and elsewhere. She lives with her wife and hound in the ‘literature mountain’ district of Taipei. Connect via www.acadiaink.com or social media: @acadialogue

Feature image by Puzzle Creative on Unsplash