All decentering is kind
We do not answer to numbers unknown
As from the basement
Of a peripheral blight.
Let them declare themselves to us,
Like one loss greeting another.
Her back burned for a month when she took the call.
This resonance as a pattern and mosaic is, by
As a Filipino (short
Letters), a movement collects itself towards
Language. The “provincial” must have known that—
Not now, not as real “angel works abound,”
Extending tentacles of sympathy and curiosity.
Babel too infects abaca, other sources of fiber.
* * *
Joy of the mountain
Spread out three buckets of fragrant stems.
Shored these up where I used to burn leaves
Under the guise of boiling water.
Should put the girls’ stones and shells
Back where they belong,
But a strong and idle house sits there
Taking note of where
The grass line cuts our shins, was
The hem sewn above or below the knee.