We cross the border from Costa Rica
too late. Ignoring warnings to drive
Nicaraguan roads only by daylight,
we press North, meet no revolutionaries,
only passport checks, pot holes,
large patches of paving
which have surrendered to rain,
and labourers running graders,
pouring asphalt. Night has painted
the road to Managua. Great fields
of darkness stretching out
between dimly lit homes and shops.
Ebony caverns under trees. It’s so dark
we catch no glimpse of Lake Nicaragua,
larger than the island of Puerto Rico.
Asleep in the fields, Brahman cows
look like grey boulders in the landscape
often black as Nicaraguan grackles.
We see nothing but dark silhouettes
until headlights hit Flamboyant trees,
momentary canopies of scarlet flame.