A poem in three parts about love, nature, and yearning

Costa Rica, Blue Spirit

I am breathless, breathless
for you to reside within
the empty spaces of a heart too far
from love, the kind of love that swims
with dolphins, sings with hummingbirds
as they flit to ferns from trees
with manic happiness, the kind that sinks
into the lush grass of the soul,
in paradise that is not yet
paradise where butterflies
lead you to sides of stream soft
with moss near the woods
of acceptance.

I want a poem.
I stride down to the white waved sea,
walk along the tide pools
between black lava rocks,
watch the minnows dart about.
I step from rock to rock
all the way to the sea
in low tide. A blue crab defends itself
from my extended toe, scurries across the water.
A motionless Spoonbill guards the bay,
stares with wary eyes,
moving only its head.
Terns and gulls dive for breakfast
in long swoops then splat—a fish.
I watch sea snails scrawling circular trails
in the sand, drawing patterns
like an ancient mosaic.

It is a perfect morning,
sun not too high,
locals selling their pots,
a new friend holds my hand
in my mind. Mountains rise
in the distance, what is
on the other side?
I etch in my memory
these moments, hoping they can be
retrieved later, taken off the shelf
like a porcelain horse.