grey skies listen,
sodden leaves curl,
passing waters reach
and race … the gurgled calls
of morning storm drains…
**
started to say
I didn’t write today, and
oops, here I am
**
**
…to the Philippines…
even before take-off
the red-eye claims time and space
its own acts of simple doing
making new meaning
because…
**
reading of the poets’ lives,
poems sung, singing
clearly among them I am
even when uncertain
of so clearly given
affirmations
**
Manila means noise,
means the constant press
of chaos, means Sunday mass,
morning streets, bells, hymns
and scooters…
down the street from 7-11,
a block from the the thoroughfare
median home for many
brown skinned, bare arms
and legs—flat chested, skinny
stomach flip-flop wearers
blocked from the beach
by a high fence, clear blue waters
peeking through the gaps
**
and even so and always, here…
over the years, my witness…
ordinary people here
catch your eye
here, you are here…
where heart is wealth
memory the weave
and kapwa the family fabric
**
the road out of noise and sweat and traffic
thick air
hums through fields of rice and open green
farmland
to mountain rock and mountain pines
and in Baguio
morning before the sun…
Rooster
welcomes us home
**
Rooster’s first call
unfolds fifteen years—
ears smile, heart tears
**
finding what you’ve lost
track of knowing you need
lightens
**
—Banaue
in the dark in the rain
on mountain sides
of the Cordilleras, Rooster decides
when’s morning
and throughout the days
and terraced greens
and seeping fogs and peaks
again and again,
breathing it in
says it all
so clear
words stay at home
with the heart
**
in rural Philippines
dogs and chickens allow traffic
room to pass
**
—Moalboal, Cebu
Tanzo Point Road
a lone pine
at the edge of the sea
watches over…
a young boy
flip flops across
morning wet grass
calling his mother—
mine gone,
my boots stay
right where they are…
**
and at the island’s edge
just there over the stones
where tides deliver the crabs
one again Orion marks my life
on earth…watching
from night time’s sky
**
so tired, unable to read
but a handful of lines,
pen makes life of its own
in my hand, shows me how
to follow its vow
**
distant islands’
shades of green
uncover themselves
to sky light
clean of clouds
**
Cebu walks include goats, chickens,
Rooster and dogs—sleepy, docile, frisky,
at times inquisitive, never aggressive
dogs coming and going among us,
a given part of “we”
**
legs stretched, ankles crossed,
big toes opposed—quietly
we wind down, think of home
**
rain drops may remember
but if not, oceans do—same goes
for me and for you
**
I admit
my roots are not here
among these islands
but see there,
my heart
