Daybreak

Stepping into the smoke
that climbs the mountainside
carrying in its jaws the memory of fire
we vanish

stars flicker where
the sky’s blue dome
catches the smoldering mast

then emerge cloaked in silver ash
the sun’s rays lancing our throats into beads of flame
as we chant the world
into daybreak and dreams.

We found signs in the entrails of wild boars
as our holy women read the slaughter
that darkened the tips of their fingers red
and manacled their wrists in scripture

we chose to live even though
we knew enough of what was to come
or at least what we would become
in order to witness their arrival.

Let me tell you how it begins—

our children run from the shoreline
chased by the last trace of starlight in the sky
my daughter turns to me
cupping a spear of moonlight in her small palm

samurang

our footsteps pursued by echoes
as we leave the shallow mouths of coral
empty in our wake.

From yndio arxipelago (UP Press, 2025); art by Jay Pee Portez, from “Harvest”