they stormed out the corners, the screamers, the signs, all black. but no longer occult. i tried to walk past all the mourners in lines, but my heart was my pillar of salt. can heaven forgive me that i could not come? please carry my soul to your flame! i’ll tend to my garden and pray you reach home — but i know that it isn’t the same. though clouds round you gather, each knight noble stands; the rain is the least of the cost. o sable crusaders, my hand in your hands, i will march with the ghosts of the lost.
Note: This was written on the anniversary of the declaration of Martial Law in the Philippines in 1972. There was a demonstration at my university, so that we may never forget: Marcos is not a hero.