Roddy Lumsden
XLVII Manila
from Cavoli Riscaldati
We should not fathom what is new to us
Impatiently, but give it time to cleave
Away our armour of belief. This view
Is the silver, sprawling Bay I must concede
Did not fall from that sky at some point yesterday.
Even the battle a century ago
Is a whiskers breadth away in its own history.
Twilit Ermita where the jeepneys roll,
Whose puck-puck car horns forge a constant music
While five floors up, post-cyclone rain
Putters and blurs our terrace swimming pool
Which fails to overspill, though each hot drop
Impacts, imparted to the whole. Nothing is new
Except this sense of nourishment. And you.
Page(s) 49
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