Nicaragua

I.

As I walk from the villa down the winding, rocky dirt road,
I see the moon-

bright and sacred,
nestled in vintage denim.

It makes me pause…
and I sit in the soft grass, cradled by nightsong-
crickets chirping in rhythm with the surf,
seagulls crooning unwanted lullabies.

Why do the rocks by the shore,
edge of a continent,
look so much like the white dusky button in God’s shirt,
floating above the breeze and I?

II.

A hare.
Ears alert, body in repose,
should danger creep, it will bound
past Orion, seeking refuge.

A fish.
It leaps from the waves,
reaching for the sky’s edge,
to breach the glowing sphere that holds it.

A boat.
Assailed by mighty winds,
it tacks again in hope that
safety will last the night.

A man.
Features sparse, but intent pure,
He surveys the night, pervades the dark,
yet shines enough so I can write.