Hermosa, Costa Rica
   
Shoes, shorts, shirts stripped, 
two girls reach for shrimp 
translucent as souls, 
for silver fish and polliwogs,
in the pool below the falls. 

Split molecules pearl 
their skin, and they lean in 
to deeper water, 
singing a wading song,
soft and falling,
soft as a moth wing.

Sulphurs and swallowtails lift
above palms and vines.
Flute-sounds of hidden toucans
float in the hot, fat air.

Morning encloses
a pool of clear water
with its girls and creatures.                                                                                                             
Green pulse, green vessel,	                                          
sill of a calling world,
as if in a whisper they’ll be gone.