Cool breeze dominates Boquete with an almost
full moon chaser of life, adventure, stars
to hang my eyeballs on when I put them away for the night.
River sound, leaf sound separate and commingle
slipping in and out of wind-blown branches
curling into my cabana like a friendly boa looking for my mice.
The boa,searching onward, slithers across a line on a map
unaware of silver other than as a cool sliver
on the rock that has lived on the face of the timeless cliff.
The almost moon gives a jagged smile to the constrictions
painted here and gone, leaving behind
the barest trace: a mouse hair or three, an “s” track in the sand, a drop of blood.
No politics or presidents, only silent assassinations in the night
small mice missed only by their families.
As the snake resumes its affiliation with the hunt,
the breeze from Lower Monkey laughs and sends him on his way.
I can feel the boa churning, giddy spying around corners then light speed to the next sanctuary. It feels like joy and deep dark depths and light-full smiling. Thank you for your imaginings of imagery and movement.
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