Sea meets land.
Crabs emerge on rock tops,
appearing from nowhere as the tide
crawls higher on the crushed shell sands.
Montezuma, Costa Rica, beach hangout
of aging hippies and street artists
and the touristically employed,
at the end of the potholy road
across the southern Nicoya Peninsula,
welcomes us
more as friends
than guests or tour-
ists.
One more vibrant, rural, creative
community of servants,
waits upon us with massages
offering bananas from the trees,
feasts from the sea
and rum from the islands.
The constant mumbling of the sea rises and
lingers in the rain forest above us, day
and night, rain
and sun, as the limping old man
with the full matted
beard and orange
painted chest
hangs on the streets, night
and day, drunkenly
prophesying the cosmic meeting
of mystics here, on this straggly street
past bars, souvenirs and tour desks
to the ocean.
Howlers monkeys, mono congo, hoot, unseen.
A family of white faced monkeys groom one another
while lounging on a limb over the swimming pool.
A gawdy blue magpie jay -- crown topped transvestite cousin
of our blue jay at home --
pierces an orange hole
in a ripe papaya high above my hammock,
followed by a twosome of yellow and brown toucan-like aracas,
a threesome of brown backed and flecked breasted woodcreepers,
and a foursome of orange, brown and white rimmed butterflies
waiting below on banana leaves.
All together open the papaya menu
over two days,
in four courses
right before my eyes, my nose
ripening.
At midnight when we are supposed to be sleeping bats
scramble and squeak in the walls of our rooms
after swooping for insects
after sundown at Hotel El Jardin.
Even the walls
are alive!
A week at this hang out,
feasting and grooming,
lazing and basking,
soaks our souls with
air (moist kisses),
wind (monkey howled),
water (wave broken),
and fire (sun-ripe mango):
The gifts of God for the people --
and all creatures --
of God.
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