1. Waiting for Treats
    (after the Porch, before the Kitchen)

    Moon, sun, moon, sun,
    in the same place and still we run.
    Glimmer, glow, glimmer, glow:
    finally there’s water under the snow.

    Gift, smack, give back
    wilted lettuce on the rack;
    I think she hums as she washes the plums;
    and she feels the sticky rice under her thumbs.

  2. Dear season of hesitant but clearing light,

    I see a trace of moon yet, though morning
    is fully on its way. What flutters through
    the screens of bamboo as if on the strains
    of a highland flute? I love those times
    when the body has not completely left
    what embraced it last; when coming
    down the stairs it glances back at the bed
    where it lay, reviewing the rousing
    and the gathering up of things, the lingering
    farewell; unlatching doors, going out
    and walking past the jasmine bushes just
    starting to put out their little stars.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    04 20 2011

  3. How wonderful. It really is like a magic show, like being in the audience and seeing something that can’t possibly happen, happen.

    Thank you!


    What magic these celestial wonders have
    over the awestruck and fevered lovers
    vanishes like the lambent moonglow at sunrise,
    when the moon glimmers into its dying pallor,
    its lingering light languidly laving the river
    stream that ends around the dreamer’s bend.
    A ravenous sun eats all that evening splendour
    sworn to by all hearts that have loved and lost.

    –Albert B. Casuga

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