Leaving Chaya in California, and whats stays

She brought a haiku and a red camellia
when she came to say farewell,
offerings for a prosperous voyage
calm skies and no rambunctious winds.
My friend, a sister and a poet.
We had found a place together walking
in pale sunlight, green grass beside still waters
tall trees so we could choose the bright or shadowy
soft sounds from the stream, so we could hear
where words resounded, whispered, trembled in the air.
Many-toned melodious, her voice describes for me
scenes that I know of from my dreams. It is as if
she hears exactly what I need to say
has forged precisely all the words I formed.
Rainbows fill my eyes.
I've made a choice:
Reject the vulgar and the vicious
the brash American dream, the hashed-up formula
for Hollywood success, quirky and perverted.
Kneeling beside the water's edge I found pebbles
rough-textured or smoothed into gleaming eyes
collected a handful, laid them out to dry.
The ancient mystery of rocks, underlying the oceans
spewing out of mountains or forced up
through the sea, forming new islands.
Part of a world so far from fickle fashion,
only itself, flowing like water, like friendship.
I offer the libations, I pray the omens are propitious:
most satisfyingly complex-simple form, a haiku
most complex many-frilled camellia, scarcely fragrant
flagrantly vivid, like friendship.