“Bless
something small
but infinite
and quiet.”

—Robert Creeley

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I measure the image.
Of lengths, how long it has taken
to get from there
            —last time I looked—
to here, here being but another image.

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What we see from afar is Samar Island.

 

This image, this image of emotion
is but an ephemera,
            the iteration to underline
its own stutter before vanishing.
Its own softened dissolution.

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What we see from within is Sohoton Cove.

 

There are nude swimmers,
someone praying on the embankment.
             Another also steeped in supplication,
then petition dive into Titikan Lagoon,
a lacuna, cerulean gulf the way of heaven.

 

Its own retreat into a cavern, 
not a cave temple. As was written. 
Listen to the predication; hear it recede, 
            like the tide washing over 
its own, its earlier small, faithful wave.