Spring’s to bring the beacon.
This year, just pollen
after dead leaves.

(Crust of another burnt
baking pan). Look
how inside you are.

Time rolls down
the verdant hills
we left behind.

The empty storefronts–
now the scene of a tripod
positioned to catch a dance

party of one. Backdrop
of dark, grimy windows.
Still, the sky stays blue.

No molecule of spikes
replicating itself endlessly
above. Just the days.

All the days
become the one
before – a billion more.

(originally published in Marias & Sampaguitas, Summer 2021)