(Thank you, Pete for showing the way)
I wept in searching for
the pen I lost among
...
Ingon aning orasa
bitayon na ang adlaw
ug lumsan sa nagdilaab
nga dagat.
...
Always on a Sunday night
Leh-ter-bey
...
When a house crumbles to itself
the wooden floors and walls long ago
...
A man in tie stopped his heels alongside a woman
Perched at the edge of a river, washing clothes under hot midday Saturday sun.
Partly hidden in a lean-to to keep her shadowed while she scrubs the grime off the collar of her husband’s shirt to make it white again and dry the rest of the dampness of the laundry and in her eyes in the sun.
...
Mother’s yarns are cradled in a wicker tray she has covered with her tender gazes.
Meters and meters of pink line wound into a ball awaits for deployment into another craft.
...
The bamboo creaks when the wind
from the heavens whispers to its green blades
It creaks like the hinges of my dead grandma’s boudoir
that has stood rusting in the garage
...
Inig kagabii
kanang dayun ka punder
sa dinaginot nga suga sa
kilomkilum
...