Wind from the lake below
Has brought the fine rain
That wet the stair railings
Between classrooms on Makiling.
As I step out after class,
The cold droplets cling to my palms
And I check the gray sky,
The west tinted with fading orange.
It seems to have held back
The drenching: Not a quiver
Among the leaves, not a quaver
Of solfeggio or piano exercise
Emanates from any of the buildings.
The whole twilight has paused
But this is no Angelus of provincial
Church bells: Nothing stirs
In the chill, not the swirl
Of the skirt of the Goddess
I imagine passing under
The overhanging branches.
Beyond, in the gaps among
The darkening leaves,
Los Baños sparkles.
All the dogs are fast asleep under Duterte.
Their frightened yelping has stopped
After the last gunshot, when all the windows
Closed and porch lights turned off.
Faces in the half-light retreated behind
Doors gingerly shut, hooks and crossbars
Slid into slots, bolts and latches clicked
Into place. All arguments ended or were never
Again taken up. Even the unblinking lamppost
Refused to witness the pair-less flip-flop
Drop from the departing patrol jeep.
The night has swallowed the blaring karaoke,
The cats and their caterwauling have ceased.
