By degree I feel the present turning,
as the sun yet once more comes to rise.
Eastern sky that lightens by the minute,
as it pushes heavens starlight from the skies.

One more day upon the pathway,
of where time does bid the flow.
As if by gentle stream or sometime rapids,
and fate compels the path I come to know.

Uncounted I recall repetitions,
on so many long ago, half forgotten days.
Where relentless turning of the Earth,
would shine a light upon life's awaiting plays.

Once light that shone a wonder,
on mystery and promised dreams.
Abundant in every kind of possibility,
to overflowing like flooded streams.

The flow of fate and time,
that set love and dream out upon the flow.
Until only memory of such sunrises,
is all my heart can now hope to know.

The turning will go on forever,
and so too the coming of the light.
But even at this hour I sense the dusk,
and I can feel the closeness of the night.

I am dawn.
A rising sun, its rays barely lighting the horizon.
Gentle swaths of yellow illuminate blurry figures,
their shadows intertwined but their hands empty.

I am the day.
Golden hair cascades down like a waterfall, reflecting beams of light
filtering through rainbow-painted trees.
She wanders alone towards emerald fields still clothed with morning dew,
her only company the flaxen creature gently howling through the silence beside her.

I am dusk.
The sweet scent of roses mingles with the crisp air
as the last whispers of light fade from the sky.
Four people are silhouetted against the dying sun,
grass tickling their feet as their laughter fills the air
and sugar-sweet strawberries fill their mouths.

I am the night.
Light spills out an open window
and a small figure gazes up at the glittering sky.
"I wish..." she breathes so softly that her words are lost in the wind, "I wish."
Then the curtains draw closed and all that's left
is a handprint on the fogged-up glass
and the promise of tomorrow.

Pabulusok na ang ginintuang hari
sa dulong kanluran.
rumuronda na ang mga paniki,
nakadapo na ang mga ibon.
tumitili ang mga kuliglig
kasabay ng walang patid na
sagutan ng mga palaka.
ang mga butiki naman ay
humahalik na sa lupa.
malamig na hangin
ang madaramang sumisipol sa pandinig
at pumupukol ng mumunting alikabok
upang ipaalam
ang malambing nitong dampi.
maya-maya lang ay sisibol na
ang nagkikintabang kurap
ng mga mumunting kulisap
sa kalangitan
upang ito'y ilawan hanggang umaga.

Duskland
Day's portending glow
divided by the room we're in
                           verted, lit from below
our shadows cast on ceilings loom
disfigured by the self-consuming gloom
of doom we ourselves evoked
in youth
Tooth for a tooth,
In short: revenge: the word we never spoke
As the hammer fell on his existence
Bludgeoning his dull, swollen resistance
Toward a ****** stillness
That, we hoped, would equal calm
But instead has led us
to the
Duskland

“His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.
A blind-cord drawls across the window-sill . . .
How smooth the floor of the ward is! what a rug!
And who's that talking, somewhere out of sight?
Why are they laughing? What's inside that jug?
"Nurse! Doctor!" "Yes; all right, all right."

But sudden dusk bewilders all the air—
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And everywhere
Music and roses burnt through crimson slaughter.
Cold; cold; he's cold; and yet so hot:
And there's no light to see the voices by—
“No time to dream, and ask—he knows not what.”