1.

Among the ruins of stone houses—

Those proud, solid walls no monsoon rain

Could wear away nor typhoon topple—

The ariyus shrub crawls out of rubble and rock.

 

Ficus or olea, it looks as cursed as the fig

Barren like the ground it fell on, 

But here hardy as the cow or goat

Ruminating on the steep slope.

 

Wiry and lush it reigns on crag,

Ruin or crack, insisting it will prevail

Even when youths sail or fly southwards

Like so many herons, tired of dry cliffs

 

And tempestuous summers, hopeful

In city highways and side streets,

Adoring the spires and pediments

Of malls and supermarkets.

​