suds fall on black like endless snow.
tarnished paint to spry—
engine's diminutive breath
clout of metal coil, ballasts of portent...

defacing the fog and giving
it a brand new meaning. beside the rice fields in sullen Bulacan,
i ache for the frog defecating
on this tortured piece of land.

birds in migratory V-positions cleave
the azure, vanishing behind the tough ornate. to whence they flee
   and to where they shall land
on their poised talons, i do not know.

   underneath the dermis and over
    it, a long stillness of waiting,
  trapped is this
     man of Earth.