at least, you prophesize,
for ancestors cleaved

 

into oblivion by the
generosity of forests,

 

ransoming corn from
the earth’s unhurried

 

altruism. Forty minutes
by foot, the closest pond may

 

not always be the most
convincing compromise. Yet

 

once there, you pledge hours
to chasing muted myths, rituals

 

like voices eddying
in an underwater throat.

 

Submerged, the ocean’s pulse
is another heartbeat

 

felled to the ground—relieved,
interrupted, eclipsed by palms.

 

29 October 2011
Iloilo, Philippines

<<