the wind howls
like a hound
  (sans the totality
    of sound, as the truck
     slurs its final groan)

bespangled crown of the NLEX
festooned by pearled light
all across its furtive stretch

the heaven in my darkness
says Now as silence is drunk
in funeral hilarity. the truancy
of populace says Who as the
morning beckons with its blue entry becoming almost whole (and
ethereally exponential)

Pildira sings like a bird
  and self becomes so
quietly rational;
like my heart, (the metronome,
    settable configuration of
labile fortuities) gropes
   a perspicuous vision and plants
it to mine chest.

Pildira flutters like an
   old butterfly in this new morning and i, with the net of
   my hands cold with song, will be
songless in the moon without stars, or stars without moon.