rain woke me

into a blue space

inside mosquito netting inside a black room.

my ankles crossed, arms at side, brow gripping itself

in search of the romance in a 4am storm.

awoken again.

the rain is not as loud but i am being left in bed and i let him go as i stay and wait for him to leave before oozing out of the scrim.

in the bathroom mirror my face looks already used this morning,

shirt feels wrinkled, and there’s a new rub of rash between my thighs.

i go to meet him at the hotel restaurant and he guides me to his morning cabana — pathway too close to wet leaves spotting my light cotton tote bag. wrong bag. the yurt’s cone reaches too low: not enough natural light: a failure: a missed opportunity, i think, sitting.

i try to write but my phone informs me that 

the rain may stop in 47 minutes, 2 hours later than it was supposed to

the air is too warm and too much so i write to deal with it.

back at our room’s door he is ready to go. i ask if he’s good, he says he’s good

but i see the effort it took for him to get there, and how little there is left for the day ahead of us. you good? he asks me.

me? the room feels smaller. i don’t tell him. let’s go.

there’s mud outside of my side of the car and my big bag is shifting too much on my shoulders and it will have to sit on the ground with the muddy bottoms of my sandals.

the electricity is back today so the restaurant we wanted to go to yesterday is open but the only table is for six and covered with the finished meal of a family of seven. i impatiently move dishes closer together when the waiter is not looking.

we sit and it’s too dark in this corner for a restaurant without walls except for a library wall of left behind books.

the rain is soft like unworded breath behind my neck. its shadow won’t go away and there’s no direction to it — no rhythm to count while i wait for it to pass.

breakfast is served and everything is still too warm like it’s supposed to be and i don’t want to look into his eyes right now or him mine but there’s nothing else to see.

except we will see animals today at the sanctuary, a plan that i orbit

reading my phone instead of the gray sky as he drives us there.

until the first thing i see as we park on the side of the road is some big brown horses and one big brown cow on green ground behind some dark wet logs fenced along the road.

further up i see we are too early with too many people also too early, shifting from leg to leg, eager and idle waiting to get a look at some life.

i do not move much — around kids and the manners of strangers there are no natural pathways.

our tour begins.

first enclosure is big and wasted, with water and dirt the same ink brown with a bird and sloth completely still and apart at the edge of the fence wall. we’re told this is rescue.

fiction is why we came, fiction is what we got.

the rain had ended for now, but the sheet of clouds held the part of my attention needed to believe

so i saw too much of the reality — the reality of this zoo, the reality of its charity, the reality of what i wanted from it, the reality of what i wanted it to give him, the reality of what i wanted this trip to give us

but then

the thrill of not being able to imagine the experience of a spider monkey, said to be as intelligent as a 5 year old, living as old as 40

another fiction, but one i allowed. got me hot, and in it.

something to finally talk about, on our way to a stretch of beach now that the air was dry

a bit of coffee from a trailer alongside the coastal road

a wasp drifts into the vendor’s cart. i ask for an espresso for it too — i must feel better i beg to myself.

skids of blue in the sky and the day now begins.

sweat pastes me into the long sleeve i forgot i was wearing

on a beach with an island some middle distance, rows of dark water out from shore.

this is it and here i was

but i was late 

because of the rain

and in between fragile plans, maybe more rain.

there’s too much seaweed in the water because of the rain.

i’m in the ocean but won’t dip my head much — the waves are overwhipping.

back on the beach, thoughts of what i can do run into each other like bumper cars in a rink so that i think hard about ending up exactly where i am.

dark clouds over us now, but no rain, so no plan.

let’s eat, he says.

i take in the front patio of a 20 seat taco place that isn’t used to having more than three patrons at a time.

it feels better or maybe just familiar or comfortable to sit and not talk and wait for food.

thought we would share an order though — didn’t want too much, didn’t trust myself. a thought i gorge on. how easily i can fill myself for the day. the stomach of my mind turns my eyes to see him across from me on his phone.

are we comfortable in silence? or are we comfortable re-enacting our loneliness together?

we do talk after some bites, about other people of course

like always i talk more to pad his mood, a little manuever to pad mine.

he ventures to the coast across the street from the restaurant, i trail him because i don’t trust him right now and i don’t know why

a small shipwreck, a woman deliberate and porous slowly soaking in the placid liquid sky.

no more rain for today

but sundown is soon

but our towels are in the car.

we drive back to our boutique hotel

and now we’re carrying all our stuff, our towels, my muddy backpack, my damp longsleeve shirt, past the receptionist desk, where no one is there to give us our key to our room so we sally on to the hotel’s private beach, feeling purpose for once today.

the sun is out of sight setting but the clouds are thin and threaded apart enough to color the sky plum and pearl and pomegranate,

i try to hold him in the ocean, and we grip each other, and i can feel his feet adjusting to the sinking sand, his attention to the waves

it’s okay, i say, you can let go.

i lie on a chair and read some poems until there’s no more cloudlight,

we share a passionfruit sundae at the restaurant and that’s it and we were right that that was all we needed, something sweet and light. but not too sweet.

he ordered a mint lemonade and was happy that the resort had non-alcoholic drink options that he liked. i was happy about that too, but didn’t tell him how much it meant to me that he even thought about it for himself.

he keeps looking down at the fish and turtle ponds next to our table, telling me to look too but i think that this is a perfect meal.