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