8/Rosary of Summer

Manila growls
like a clammy bitch
her fur crawling with ticks
nostrils fowl & scary

& I wince
drunkenly happy to be home
where mud & stones & tapestry
of marble Penelopes, bread &
Quiapo ikons
infest all memory’s rooms:

Where lies that island now?
Galleon of sun, wind,
fair Thais dreaming of thighs
& convents, snakes & grass
Browning & Shakespeare
screwdrivers, hi-jinx, eidolons
& old colonial houses:  at evenings
they scatter onto green green lawns
to talk of Calypso & skyblue life.

Dumaguete!  Dumaguete!

Here I watch,
by the open window,
a wormeaten reel.

Grass on stones.

O

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