In Reverence

Our shoulders touch as the

boat crosses the bay in a

tedious passage. This lonesome 

voyage we share with a

chorus of tired

souls.

A man sprawls on a mint 

bench, cradled by dreams. A woman 
watches the sea with
shelled boiled eggs. 
They wait. We wait. The 

winds come.

Our ears devour this sacred 

silence. This is our church on the 

Visayan sea, where we 

create prayers in our heads while

our skins converse, the

wind slapping our cheeks like 

burning incense. 

We pray and the

gods answer with 90’s 

hip hop music and a faint

whistling over our cruising

bodies. 

*Unearthing my old little red Moleskine notebook produced old travel notes. This first draft of a poem is one of those. I would love to expand this in the future. :)