MikeLigalig.com

Eric Gamalinda
Corporeal

 

A skim of moonlight on these hills: a self-effacing moon.

Overnight, even the roads have lost their way.

I must have turned invisible myself: in the rearview mirror

my image is a pixel, a small gray speck.

It looks nothing like me.

Iridescent in disguise, lizards emulate the solitude of stones.

I’ve come back again and again to the sanctuary of wells,

but there is nothing there still;

the water will not reveal its sources.

No one speaks to the swallows.

Rain for a day, an afternoon, a dewdrop’s lifespan.

I will walk into the sunlight, if it ever comes, and disappear.

Perhaps my shadow, like my soul, will never recognize me.

It will wander aimlessly, buoyant, lifted by longing,

which is more than I have ever aimed to be.

Last night: a dream. And then a dream of a dream:

I have never learned to live inside this body.

I carry it like an instrument whose usefulness

has become arcane to me. I am tired of God,

tired of counting the cycles, the exactitude of stars.

There must be a constellation of nothing

where all things begin. A zero, motionless,

far from the spindrift of time.

I don’t expect to gain anything from these words;

I don’t think the rain, despite my praise, thinks itself dear.

Once again, my sorrow leads me where it will.

I am a target, a vector, a pair of wings.

Something massive is breathing: that’s what the thunder tells me.

I listen closely, like a hunter of songs.

I hope never to return.

Linkback: https://tubagbohol.mikeligalig.com/index.php?topic=12941.0

from Manila ms. dabins.
i heard he teaches at New York University


Linkback: https://tubagbohol.mikeligalig.com/index.php?topic=12941.0