Costa Rican Thick Air Prose

Volcanoes afar, mouths ajar
Cribbage champions disputed
But love overcomes reputed
As a tour guide rivalry mars
What was suspect to fulfilled retrospect
While throughout we said, it was lovely love…

So lovely, it cannot even be adequately described
Although we are certainly wont to try
‘Neath the nearly fullest of moons
With embers simmering and game cries soccering
Humidity giving way
To the most pleasant of nighttime skies

Recall greenery of riverboat cruises
Blues, whites, tans and grays snaking through brown
Occasional reds and blacks punctuate soundless sounds
Whispers rush in torrents of leaves, twigs, branches, moss,
Bromeliads, anhingas, egrets and jesus christ lizards…
All wrapping the sideways brown of another Costa Rican river

And in spite of and notwithstanding the sights and sounds of the river
There is a feeling of so many disparate and yet resonant themes
That almost defy description
But this is what I am most taken by
The river is ever changing and yet constant
As is my love ever expanding and yet fundamentally unchanged

I feel it is necessary to explain something of helixical fractality at this point…

The following example may prove very elucidating:
Waves form certain patterns as reflections, particularly at night
And one can see the pattern shifts in regular (or so it seems) northeasterly,
And northwesterly undulations radiating outwards,
And in correspondingly southeastern and southwestern patterns upon
The refection of the reflection cast upon the wall
From the original pattern of waves and light
That move freely exactly horizontally
The problem is that others mistake the reflections of the horizontal
As they appear as vertical reflections of something as being the reality

This is the communication problem culturally that arises daily…

Mistaking the map for the territory
And yet we travel here irrespective of that pitfall
Embracing the manner in which it will reveal its tendency
Yet again and again
And we breath in the fullness of a night moon that is here and then gone
Amidst clouds and weather that move faster than the blink of any eye

Still, I spoke even not of the other reflections from underneath the surface
And the woman who is life has found a way to see past it
Into a space that winds its way in-between all
To make anything of all of us
Sometimes of which we know not
Weather fogs in monuments to geography
Faint glows of smokers in the distance make no difference
Whether they be on top or somewhere below
What, other than the Kapok Tree, has been clear
Is that mythology to these we travel among is passé…

Nay not too too in the distant past—never too distantly passed
To re-member it in wafts of dreams, wiffs and outbreaths
The night is dark now for this moment
And the crickets sound their cries for connection
And here I sit in masked moonlight forever connected and writing to and with my baby
An irreverent and sacred soccer team of our own now and forever more

Plops form a chorus of invitation gurgling
Clouds rapidly cover the moon
Poolside tranquility breaks by clandestine phone calls
As the night callers outweigh boring typing
For what can we type that photos of iguanas cannot prove?
The soccer team fades into obscurity
Yet the Hispanic dialogue continues…

And the particular sweetness
Of this night’s air thickens
In this thickening
And the quickening of this night’s beckonings
Of this night’s happenings
Of this night’s call…

Recalling things…
Tortuguero
Fruitful fruitless search for turtles hatching
Tree frogs hide from bright flashlights
And no flash leads to no photos of them
White ginger and white orchids flavor night and day scents
Birds call to challenge sounds ever heard and made
Roaches hide in bathroom and glide under beds
To find toilet rhapsodies and swirls of goodbye
Yet black hawks perching here and there
Remind us of baby turtle remains
While crab claws clutching provide reality in sadness full

And I am one
We are two
As our Third
Blends into the sultry of the night…