Flower – crouched, crowned in its color tender, entombed, sees the moon.
     she has ten thousand things in her mind but only one heart
     for the life of her. She looks away from light
     through her spectacles yet only has her eyes on one figure, alone.
     somewhere in the mountain, drunk with the clash of land.
     she has her quicksilver of mind. Intoxicates when willed, talks,
    expires heaven a manifold. Supernal silence when nothing
    excites – she has mouths for kissing a hundred things but only
     the kink of fire for one. A wrestled shadow taking form of
     towers bigger than cities. She has two feet for the world, yet only
    one destination – to herself, and herself alone.
    She is much of herself the rest of the world shorn out of wide-eyed
    ruin – say, small bird, wishing her luck through wet leaves
    shake cataclysms down our sleeves – she does not know how to swim,
    yet has the blue of sea; anchored in the weight of unborn laments.
   No more moves the sight of her, but herself in the mirror.
    Stripped of sense and naked in a fine-tuned near-death thrill
    of hunkered ravening, we are left to our own devices, mapping out
    labyrinths. She has heard so many farewells, shook her not,
                steered her clear into the immensity of a wider room,
     her hands steely, pried open and precisely the span of bent tapestry,
                 alive in the receiving dark now, she has her eyes the size
      of Moons, shining on one alone, that is not I – furtively the distance
    calms and there is truth rising from the depths of deceit.
             The palpable freedom makes the Earth wider and she has only
    the world in her hands, trying senselessly not to shatter it.

beneath   her   feet
   her   most  daring
   feet
   that  traversed
   the murky waters
   of    dawn, past  mountainsides
  of  prayers,   stallions  the blackest mare
   love combined,  daresay   silence   annuls
   the    noise   of heart   and the  shadow
   casts its  darkest immaterial   stone

beneath    her   feet
    her  most  daring
    feet
    the    dead    continue
 ­   to   bury the   living
   and the    living    excites
    the    demanded hue   of another   blue
     to hold close   into the   sky
     whose    also    darling   feet   dangle
     much    like     water’s    fervent  collapse
    mantling   the   rivers,    miles you have
   walked   without     images    of I

beneath her    feet
   her most   beautiful    feet
    we   go   wind  by   wind in   excess
    of    days
    in   the night’s   blackest   dress    soiled
  by     light    is inmost    dance   instep,
     curated   from   machineries
   beneath her feet
    your     feet    I    adore
  which   bony prominences    hurdle
   me     weak,    ruined,
where    I    lay  
is   always  the   cradle    of   Earth
   your    feet and   I beneath
  them,   emerging   from   the  possible   life
    of    leaves   in   birdflight,

beneath    your    feet
    your     cold    feet,   unrelenting
on    the    unkind    tomb   of   my body
      your   swift   drop    of    feet,  their
superfluous   coming-and-going
   love    landing    on my  body – trampled,   weighed down
  beneath   your    feet,
    your    most darling    feet.

these dank stares throttle
         clutch my seeing night, the ***** color of the mirage
  outside
                            stills     her   face  calm   like the weather
    of trees,   unsaying      quietness   erupting
         in a groping    yellow     yawn   of
                         splendid     sun

the   sharpness   of   this   incident
    she is    tired      of   all   and of   me,
              stretches her    bones   crackle,     snap
    out     of    ponderous    limit
       staggered      by    the   unsuspecting    blow

rising      from   a tense   moment  and  ending
        suddenly, with   an  obsolete  stare.

Nandito na ako sa labas, sa ilalim ng payapang ilaw mula
          sa poste kasabay ng pamamayagpag ng mainit
          na hangin ngayong Marso.

   Nag-hihintay sa kasunod na pigura na lalabas mula
          sa masikip na daluyan ng tao – ikaw o ang konsepto

ng    ikaw   na    ‘di   dapat,  maselan
   kagaya ng pagnanais,

       pagkakataong mas sinungaling pa sa
pamahiin – mayroong napupukaw
    ngunit   hindi kalian man mabibihag.

From my slice of ample darkness and space,
     I look at you from all the stirrings of things,
  dancing though you cannot dance,
  leaving planetesimals all over the terrain.

I can sense out a locutionary from the heated body
beside me. Surliness so sure of its dagger in hiding,
slowly creeping up like cocoon of morning.

That was you in your off-shoulders.
Collarbones, caryatids, tilted atmosphere
summered, simmered into the air
  until it died in a hollow jar.

And from your foreground, rusting is the wind
  and it falls down on the lawn, like garlands
  spread all Autumn by a sprightly, darling child
  in a lithesome gingham dress.

My hands, past vertical, destroying limits,
   feeling the weight of mercurial form begin
  shifting into a disturbance in lotus stature,

  fraying out of phase in limited access,
this height where springs of undecipherable fogs
   lift the face of clocks, unwatched,
whose departure is this but only distance knows?

let me fruition this now
with emphasis. There will be noise
disavowed, and only the full metal of silence
would indict the plenary moon.

       whatever you say, it shall will
itself to the ground, obvious of its
decay long overdue. This time, precision
of aches outrace light – only this night,
and in some other nights when there is
only the blue glare of your face in the
nauseating vertigo of words intimated.

     now, in the barenaked room,
everything will enter as if the first time,
the last ones too – all at once so suddenly short
and handsome with abeyance.

   you were out into the world and I won’t
flinch nor blame. Soon when capable,
all of this will whittle into one fine laughter
pivotal towards the wary sides of mercy.

soon nothing, as changes
were inimical, silence will champion our
places, remembering you in the unclothed
sunlight of the South when we faced North,
watching boats wade in speeds of your freedom,
   in the boulevard where at one point in time,
     I have left you spaces to occupy,
   only mine errors found.

Always when moments slip into
   silence, I dream only truly of your easy
   language with urgent intimations.

I have always listened to the deep
drone of the animal struggling to be
freed inside of you – housing a pain it
does not fully understand, welcoming strange
darkness encircling us like fugitives.

you remind me of my voice so small,
so fragile, so mute in the mutiny of your song,
  keen with listening as in ear to the fullness of the world,
  a form of trying analysis

when it was only yourself spoken with recall
of days when you were young, ablaze, engraved into the wind,
myself looking back, still finally seeing you

  in the continual of running, singing songs,
  trembling in the wake of the blue hour.