The sun is tired.
It sleeps while the sky bleeds.
Night creeps slowly
With the moon in tow
The old night
Stanches the sky's wounds
With patches of twinkling little stars.

He entered our window
On his chariot, gold
Crashing the balloons
Left by a Sunday celebration,
My nephew’s 1st birthday
Last Sunday, yes, last Sunday
When all of us orbited
The sun
On an evening
Until 10:30, post meridiem.

The day I lost my voice
I did not cry
I rejoiced.

The day I lost my voice
I gained an ear
I listened.

I listened to flowers’ whispers
To bees’ chatters
To bamboos’ laughter
To children’s banters and giggles
To moon’s  cries
To sun’s admonishments

If now, you plead me: speak
Please,
Don’t cry for me
Rejoice
Gain an ear
Listen

If now, you plead me: speak
Please,
Allow my heart to do it.

I looked for the stars
And was given the sun.

I looked for the stars
And was given the moon.

I asked the tree on my garden
Why the star lights are so elusive
This time of year.

Or was I just blinded by the sun’s glares
Or was I just lured by moon’s sweet talking

Immersed to sun’s grandness
Drunken to moon’s wine

Come here, said the fireflies,
Partake on our humble light.

Or,  The Poor Man's Bread*

Three pieces
Of pandesal to begin a day.

Where’s the salt in here? I ask.

Then came three beads of sweat
Trailing my face after a walk

On three streets:
Valero, Leviste and Dela Costa.

I climb on the 9th Floor,
Of Liberty Centre Building,*
To make salt.

The sky
cries again

not because
it has acquired an angel

but because
one has left (an angel)

the earth
wanting.