XVII. Sana maulit muli by Christine R. Carvajal

and I will bathe in that stretched pocket of time

and even now, in the blue light of the room my head points west where far off, stood by the dark and music, the sky permits a mountainous range of air: a yellow sliver against a great dusk and I wonder, will I ever live in it or will I watch forever

sana maulit muli - maybe i won ’t be so tired to whisper another “ pangako sayo ” anymore

i.

i told the stars about you. i spoke of softer moments like dwindling red giants in empty spaces, and supernovas of static realizations

i whispered your name to the moon. our ancestors call him the moon boy watching his magnetic attraction with the waves of this planet, bulan caters to the night sky diamonds dancing about him

my lola taught me a story about the stars how they are the sightless splendor of the souls of the dead and sidapa sends each one over to join bulan in gentle breaths and deathly delicacies

do you know of sidapa that watches bulan from afar? do you know of the immense space between time and of colorful cabernets, how sidapa loses a part of his own, wishing each soul sent was his?

i’ m a bit terrified really, of being tethered to this earth i told of the constellation on your cheek and its echoing mortality between each breath you take

bulan not knows of sidapa low tide in the soul, like a stagnant laguna these are the indoctrinated paradoxes