A little beach thinking

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A little writing from the trip.... Keep in mind that these are all early drafts and need some more editing : )

Two Worlds

the richness, the texture
the color of your skin
the melody of your voice,
rumbling with pronunciation
of words I do not understand,
entrances me, leads me
to another dimension
where we can speak
with mutual admiration
of the differences that separate us
the things which draw us
at once apart and together
and finally it is only
silence we share
and a smile that tells us both
that all is the same
in the end, into the earth
into the sky, into the
reunion which awaits us all


in memory

there are only three now, but the
questions of why have not yet formed
the pain of vacancy still fills all space.
curvy road on this mountainside,
the bus clings with wretched claws, you
are sick out the window and your
husband fights off resignation in his
melting black eyes.

with your head bent, I can hear the
scrapping whisper of your mayan
tongue. are you asking for God to help
you now, through this collective of
unbearable moments?

the world becomes dark to you and
your breathing becomes steady, the relief
of ignorance swept across your face,
I imagine you are dreaming of the
children God didn’t let you keep, I
imagine you are dreaming of
acceptance, like the open hand of love.


thunder storm

lightning echoes among the clouds
a sunset of red and white
the pale yellow of the stars
and a woman’s shadow
is painted on the walls. a roar
of crowd and all is rumble, the
fall of silence among the town.
a drip of rain, a drop of blood and
the dogs still roam dark
alleys of the sleeping neighborhood.



el retiro

the slow stagger of the hammock,
steadies itself in the end, like a drunkard
rising from bed on a tardy sunday
morning; the bats know the rhythm,
chasing each other around the trees. the
river chants its ancient call for sunset
but only the cicadas reply, the air
already purple, the sun already gone.


el retiro 2

intricate melancholy of the late morning
sun, even the palm thatched roofs lie
more limply against their frames.
nothing makes sense except the
confusion of the moment, delicate weaving
of emotion and no where is there
cool air to be found except in
the dark eyes of a passing child.

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