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for two cents, the man answering will reach into the ocean open another sail & draw
I drink the elderflower air, poured by the 4am sky, untouched by eyes.
Jeepney smoke seeps through the iron rail to keep him bloodshot. He burrows in the neck of his shirt, already coughing.
Why does the sky appear black from the airplane even though it’s sweltering noon on the ground?
I knew Chinatown best on Saturdays, the November kind:
I remember That sun-kissed evening in 1914, The sky met the horizon melting blue and green.
Below/ the cherry blossom clouds—amongst the bowing heads—of daisies and—the beat of bees
Soft sliding susurrations, light lift of page, A sigh, a huff, a breath, murmurs in the murky quiet,
Rustling, shuffling, low thunder of a rolling ladder.
"Quark querk arck erk" That’s what the tui* said.
It begins with patter, like the impatient tap of painted nails, the rain thrums on the roof.
Waterfalls of cream and white with leafy laced foam, how you flutter in the breeze with not a sound or a moan.
Today, nature is fit in an open, square bus window with Mama obstructing the moving, alfresco greenery.
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