created from your image, i think
of down pillows and soft bed sheets
wet with the mist of rain from the spill
over from windows, the illumined light
of adolescence before it fulfills itself
in adulthood, an ideal, the grace of body
at the same time the iron grills
of the gates of the mind, the human
mingling with the divine, haloed in light bulbs,
on my skin your unwritten words:
hindi mo alam na ikaw ang hiwaga ng umaga—
the secret that will turn and turn, turning
the expectant morning into a barren afternoon,
losing the child as sacrifice for the man
to survive. i should be filled with guilt,
or fear, but as of now we’re filled
with light and laughter, still in Eden,
the dawn before the corrupted day,
who knows what will happen next.
*Tagalog: you know not that you are the miracle of the morning