(Manunggul Cave, Palawan; late Neolithic)
Someone is loosing the rope
that tethered our boat
to the pier. Here we are, easing
forward into the fog, into the cold
that seems to have gotten colder.
We’ll pass the shuttered town,
we’ll slip into the currents
blue with the ink of unborn stars.
We’ll love them no less, no more,
even as the water swirls, changing
from jade to milk. The world we enter
then leave is round as the bowl of our
desires, and here the word for horizon
is the same as faithfulness: invisible
rudder our hands have always held,
even as now we cross our arms
across our chests, preparing
to travel farther, deeper.