I think I understand now why poetry wouldn't come in Costa Rica. Something in the way I experience joy... without words. With the full body, the full brain, fully sensory, but non-verbal. Here, this poem, is a first attempt to "document" such a moment -- still poetic fiction, but from a place of joy.
And then we were there.
Perched on the cusp between air and
gravity,
curve of the handlebar pressing thighs as I
played girl and you,
boy.
Through laughing shrieks of darkness
I sank into your chest
to nest in your stern; children
returned to the world.
And we spin cradled in an inverted hull
Low hanging ribs clipping
our skin; headlamp tickling the ground
where wheels crackle music to our whispered
trespass
tracing the chancel
of somebody else's club.
Distant lights of unmanned sentry
mark us,
tree veiled til we reach
the nave.
And there before, sliced imperfectly,
the just-waning moon;
the font. Following along in reflected play
carving reveals of light in
porphyry and time -
momentary footholds in the rockscape.
Then naked we entered the nave.
Rough necklaces of an invisible garden played with our legs.
And there,
submerged, you lifted gently from around my neck
the umbilical anchor that
tied me to the Beast.
And love gasped at last.
Redeemed in the Sea.
Between sips of unholy water
our lips met and in shared breath
we conspired to youth,
smashed the bottle
and named this Fate.
The season turned us in her warm rocky hold
And we rode back to the sanctuary
where to the back beat of ensemble birdsong
you disappeared into sleep with a reminder:
My soul is weary, I do not believe in love
and held me in your long sea tentacles.
Sleep weary soul, I say
I will hold you in my faith,
voluminous
Chora of your rebirth
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