let there be distance
between us

let us be like pillars again
far from each other

to make this house stand
and strong

upon its four feet
below its wide roof

let the sky have joy
let the moon smile

my friend has turned into
an old sagging woman

but she knows her way
to cope up with time

she surrenders her mind
to the plunders of her past

she pawns all her dreams
to tomorrow's promises

on nights when there is
nothing worth doing

she sits by the window
and asks the wind to make

love with her again.Look
at her: strawberry lips

a winding road, a high cliff,
two mountains for breasts

waiting for your fingers
her tongue lands on your pelvis

her hair becomes the river
where you sing and sail again.

honey, i am a sail
boat

the best thing that
happens to me, listen

you are the mouth of the sea
that becomes my port of entry.

there is this ambiguity sometimes

when i think i love you and i want to make love with you

i compress distance in a dream

my mouth is being conquered by your tongue

i am helpless and i surrender to that beautiful gesture of defeat

i am ready

i pack my bags, buy a ticket, and a map where to find you

on that long journey i dream of the moon

i dream of stars caressing my hair

i glimmer like a distant sparkle of a fish on the sea by the side of the boat of the

fisherman who just make love with his woman by the shore

when i arrive there i see you waiting and longing for me wanting to hold me like

an old jacket during that stormy night

but it is a sad thing

i've seen what you bare

all of it like a nude painting of a woman who had been sitting for hours before

her patron and benefactor and lover and all rolled into one

i did not put my clothes on your bed

and without a word i left you.

if you only know, i also shed tears for this

sweet stupidity.

AT a different sound level
you do not hear the elephants making
their calls for help

only they can hear what they are saying
as you watch only
silence

and so it will be with the trees and the sands and the sea

you stand there thinking that this world is a silent garden
but it is not

there is a language of the leaves and the branches
there is a talk of the sea and the sands

you just could not hear it
for you too have a language of your own
in your heart
that you
and only you can
hear and understand

who knows? who feels?.....

i stopped
comparing myself to you and the rest of the gang

there is no use
there is no cure for this hollowness

so let it be

i sometimes think that you are luckier
what with a family of three
and a house on top of a hill with a red car parked nearby
what with a parrot to greet you good mornings inside that silver cage by the window
of your cottage at the right side of your daffodil garden

on the other hand
what choice do i have?

i live on my own now
rooted to a family history

the house is old but smelling still of the bread that mom used to bake
the wall still resounding of the nails that father hammered on my younger days

so many things so many memories

and so i stopped comparing myself to you
you are different, so much different to what i am

i will be what i can be
without you even without this world
even in the eternity of emptiness

for this universe is nothing but a big burst
of loneliness

coping up with planets and stars
moving on somewhere still hoping to catch

what happiness is all about.

thank you for the night
its coldness and darkness
had serve us rightly
we did what we could
to make love so real

that moment when we part
i to the north
and you to the south
we fall short of courage
to leave the word
on that empty bench

the world remains
what it is
the blue ocean
the green mountain
steady stones
as usual
indifferent and
unaffected

to two lonely souls
converging and then
be diverted.

how i wish to think
that
that red tailed fish
which roamed the
small aquarium world
throughout
its life is
happy

but this is what
i feel

like those sweet slices
of pineapple
and melon chunks
which i kept inside the
refrigerator

how chilly can loneliness
be?

how cold, how silent
but when eaten

still fresh and so sweet.

last night at
eight
the Father said
to me:

i do not give a
portion of
my fortune and
treasure
of my kingdom
and power

since you are my
child
i give you whole

and this morning
he said to me:

believe always in
me
and you shall have
no worry.

i heard that Kant
never traveled
and so did Kierkegaard

what they did
they did it in their minds
their philosophical windings
went beyond what we in
strange places reached
by foot
& eye

and so here i am
rooted
with no choice but
to bloom

white clouds
hang in that
monitor of blue
skies

a memory of
a lighthouse
love once sticky
on grass

eternal horizon
fresh winds
craving in my
nose

a short stay
here in Batanes
a day or two

soon, soon
despite its beauty
i still have
to be home

• sometimes you lose yourself
  in the middle of a
  talk with friends who wish
  to come to your
  succor
  
  they'd say they are concerned
  and show their love on that drink
  and stories about other people's lives
  as examples of bitterness turning
  otherwise
  about how love cures a broken heart
  about how one must rise to a fall
  and be whole again
  courageous to face the storm and
  the usual trials
  
  you oblige with attentive listening
  but for how long? you measure it
  with the cups of coffee, saucers of
  peanuts, beef loaves, barbecue sticks,
  and those long-necked bottles of gin
  and slices of lemons and pinches of salt
  
  and then all of them are drunk except you
  who still thinks
  sober still, clear as cellophane bag,
  you begin to travel alone in your thoughts
  far far away
  trying to reach still the one you love
  but who never loves you still.

  

it feels like
i have fallen
from bed

in that dream
when i was about
to kiss you

and then the
awakening comes
too quickly

when we reach
cicada hills

i fall asleep
and then dream
about someone
i have never
even met

upon a blank face
can love bloom?

when you posted this
picture of an exhausted man
walking on the road alone
they were worried

a friend of yours guessed
that you are going home

your sister does thinks
otherwise, there must be
something wrong

and i, who do not know
you much, a man of few
words, bathing always in
the silence of your
dispositions, actually
worries more

whatever happens, i
must agree, it is all
planned, and nothing is
wasted.

the flowers
say something

to see beauty
one must spend
more time

and time must
stop

even a little
while
in focus

when i see bird cages
i remember us

caged and feeling so
many wings clipped

we are like pens
which cannot write

blank bond papers
thirsty for ink

the sea
always understands

it is not the river
pouring
all its waters
to the big mouth
of the ocean

mind you,
it's us.

our
own poverty
is chosen

relatively
your poverty
need not be
mine

ultimately
everything arrives
at a certain
fairness

and so when
asked:

say " I'm fine"

the young boy
runs to the sea

jumps in
complete glee

as a man he
comes back to
swim again

taking more time
to love
salt and foam

at midlife he
finds a chair and

sits there alone
longing for more

sunset comes
with so much
softness

warmth on his
shoulder

looking blankly
to an endless
horizon