by Clifford Brooks
A virago enjoys smooth indigo.
To contain her knack
to knee-jerk push back,
she wears heavy boots.
Not unhealthy or unwise,
she is seasoned.
Four unquestionable words
cement the good news
she’s signed with the crew:
I believe in you.
There’s good business
in smart romance.
Sailing without an argumentative tide,
Costa Rica ripples off
the starboard side; two twisting in love,
now listing
toward mankind.
They get close enough
to smell the sand, then
muscle beyond it
to a valley that splays open
an orchard of olive,
fig, and apple trees.
It’s too soon for tourists,
shrieking children,
and souvenirs. Tomorrow
will be all about sneaking out
for skinny dipping.
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