We seem like capital cities apart...
Everyone seems to be moving on...

My heart prickles in pain
remembering how lonely...

He was a curator
who speaks softly about...

I used to find
your eerie smell on the staircases...

If I bury my poetry
underneath Manila skies...

Sunset, I've known you for so long --
a distant mirage, a forgotten song...

Last September,
I watched...

Those orange streetlights
that are illuminating the cars that are parked...

Mossy forest,
have you ever dreamt of me...

Don't hate me,
my poetry...

I've heard loud silence of Manila lately,
and it is so sincere that whispers...

This ornate road
I used to pass by...