Everywhere, on the sidewalks, in the gutters, right outside my door. Flourishing in the streets of Tegucigalpa, like leftover confetti from Mardi Gras. Lining the paths, nestled in the gravel, the broken concrete, and overgrown weeds. Coloring the landscape with orange and green.

Proliferating around garbage cans, discarded bottles, tires, and take out boxes, liberated to the acrid landscape around.
  
Men, cutting back the peels, devouring the tropical flesh, delectable, united to pits. Dark skin and eyes, their accents singing, so different from my own.

I stepped carefully, but always underneath, a sweet stickness, clinging to my soles. A bond to the red dirt, platanos fritos, and cattle roaming the street.

When I returned to the wide boulevards, pristine and meticulously clean, I stopped watching my feet, looking for mango peels underneath.

And I am released,
in a wash of flowing lines,
All by the tone of my skin,
the wave of my hair,
and the curve of my lips.

And the streets open before me,
with patterings of rain, tinkering on metal,
Echoes of footsteps,
resound in space and the dripping air.

Drops, scattered like broken glass,
on the sidewalk,
wash over my feet,
with each step taken away.

Down I floated, in a misty dream,
Sinking from the heavens on butterfly wings.
Dust rising to cling to blue-striped wings,
In the early morning air,
Songs of whippoorwills and the call of the trees,
Still echoing in my dreams.
Down I floated, to the Earth below,
The sky bellowing in flashes,
Like drops of rain, falling on butterfly wings.

9.1.2.1.8
Tiny cracks beginning to appear, water seeping, drip by drip,
Cuts across my ribcage, scars that remain,
At dawn in the mist, the rest of life.
awaits to be destroyed and rediscovered,

8.9.1.3.1
permeating through my veins,
The light rises, reflecting off flesh and blood,
Strength reveals its own fragility, shattering these careful intentions,
Neatly wrapped up.
hidden, yearning to be found,

1.8.9.1.7
flooding out, it puddles on the floor,
I gaze at the ceiling, on the wrong side of things,
My feet were meant to walk on the opposite aspect of life, stepping over doorways and chandeliers,
All these bubbles, threatening to burst.
just under my skin,

3.1.8.9.2
washing away small pieces of soul,
Silence embracing me in its arms,
I am unprepared for eternity,
Lightly evaporating across my skin.
these intricately linked, small steps,

2.5.1.8.9
sliding past,
Like images reflected in a window pane,
Imprinted for one note,
I have taken the wrong train, led by a star at the crossroads.
down a path in the twilight,

9.3.1.1.8
finally into place,
Pebbles tumble in the outgoing tide,
Better I had never visited that place, caught in the trance of the moon,
Pieces lost, drawn to sea.
flowing, sinking, to a metamorphosis,

8.1.0.9.1
ensnared in a puzzle,
Searching, endlessly, for a life behind the mirror,
That I have never cradled
Imbibing the sweet, slow languish.
of innocence.

Three steps forward, two back, one to the side. A dip, one turn, and a clasp of hands.  Bubbly toasts and a warm embrace. One cycle over, and a new dawn across the sea.  One pinprick of light for all the hours not yet seen.