leaving gokarna

om beach

Covered in splashes of orange—
we wade into the water.
A boat releases a net.
There are eagles
soaring, circling
in front of distant mountains.

We were going to walk to town.
We were about to set off
yet we stay by the shore.

Feet tapping
ocean lapping
a cow sleeps by the door
waiting for the sun
to come down.
The line of the earth
curving mountains
and the farthest sounds.

In the ocean-facing cafe
we sit before unceasing measure
with sun-dried skin
by the rocks and spray
in ocean moisture
gazing into her
depth, her temporary calm
her low tide widening the sand
before the palms.

Breathing in, trying to thrive
like the brown eagle that flies
across these great distances
made for men like you. With your
mysterious flesh, mysterious blood.
You affect me like the moon does.
I am raised to hit high shores
and lowered to a truer home—of emotions.

The undercurrent pulls me back to you.

Black crabs surface on the rocks
and disappear in the next surf.

We find families of frogs
with pale bellies and pink eyes;
tan snakes in the well;
monkeys with black faces and white tails;
fist-sized beetles flying.
A dolphin sprung up once.
And as I watch to see it again
I watch for you
to appear on the beach
returning from town.

The pollen makes us sleepy.
I turn to the flashy sea remembering
the power of time, money, and energy
and how when you have
some combination of them—

I am asleep in the hut
inside the mosquito net.
Our relationship with the sun
is such that time
is an abstraction.

I listen
to the nocturnal world’s music.
A bird keeps rhythm
a leaf flaps like a flag.
You begin to snore
so I pinch you.
The lanterns tilt.
The surf is growing stronger.
I listen with the back of my head
to the men’s departure.
Goodbye. Bon voyage.

A traveler steps into the cafe in dusty clothes
and I remember the outside world.

I tell you so you know.
I tell you with the reflection of the ocean on our faces.
I am thinking of the future.
I have been thinking of our past.
A policeman is spying on us—
he is hiding behind that plant.

A coconut crashes through a metal roof like lightning.
Monsoon season is coming.
What’s your plan, you stray dog
sleeping by my feet on the porch?

The days go quickly.
You say “yes night falls early.”
I say “I will swim closer to the sunset.”

I enter the water angrily
to test my strength
against the ocean.
But the gentle waves
test my ability
to let go, instead.

We must leave Gokarna.