At the what I look at
The space between strands
O the never-ending fungus
Between my toes
I on an island
You on a highway
All stars melancholy
As that sweet eyelash
Failing to fall on pupils.
I guess at the distance between stars,
Between Holy Ghosts,
Imagining blackness to be
A blank space
That was nothing before
Which is now your heart
On this far-out space
This interstellar road
That calls all stars
Out with a mere wink,
Forget the bypasses,
I am the hand
That forges fingerprints
That never lets go
That never ends
Pyramus and Thisbe
Sweet wall that runs the length of this house, you
Hide my love from me, show me only parts.
One hand at a time, one eye at a time.
How does my kiss translate from my lips to
His, how soft the wall seems sometimes, from wall
To lips, I breathe in moss and moisture in
The space of one breath, one finger at a
Time, I touch those lips, that insipid breath.
One word at a time you whisper a word
One breath at a time you watch me breathing
This wall is your cheek I press mine against
I love the wall with my own fierce loving
Surrender myself to its cold, hard, touch
You, on the other side, look for a door.
Every inch of skin that belongs to me
Now also belongs to you.
Burning, I, Incense-bearer worship whose God?
With what Heart, with whose hands do we leave nirvana?
How many times must a hand be reborn as air?
Then am I only kissing winds?
Ayn Frances dela Cruz, 23, is a teacher at Mapúa Institute of Technology. This is her third year in the graduate program of Comparative Literature at the University of the Philippines. She attended the 7th University of Santo Tomas National Writers Workshop as a fellow for English poetry. Some of her work has been published in Philippine Graphic, Paliparan, The Argotist Online, The Flask Review, Kritya and previously in Zone.