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Pronostalgia

Patio Walls

Black, low-slung stone-block, 

The walls faced the Volcano. 

In the colonial style of long,

 

Curving segments between fat,

Squat obelisks, also of blocks joined

By lime-and-egg-yolk, they lined

 

The edges of the church grounds

Before they fell to the creek below,

Once among the fluffy blooms of

 

Tall cogon sending out their flimsy

Dandelions in the April air, settling

Among lantana and yellow rosasitos.

 

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The walls have been re-paved

And painted over, white. Next 

To them, as white, stretched

 

The new parking spaces, smooth,

Convenient, kind to wheels and

Strolling lovers. They were once 

 

Gravel where crept the stray vine

Of cadena de amor and its 

Pink spray of bleeding hearts.

 

When the cars took their places,

If you were inside the church among 

Pews, the car-tops blocked your view

 

Of the Volcano. Now you’re left 

With just the usual wisps or clumps 

Cloud at the summit, and Mayon

 

Is as if you’ve only dreamed it.

 

 

March 7, 2015

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PatioAngelMedallaB&W.jpg

Mayon Volcano, from the Daraga Church patio, by Angel Medalla

Nostalgia

Climb the hill before Angelus

And linger at the church patio

Gaze at the Volcano’s 

Purple shape before it fades

 

Inside, priest and cantor

Sing their responsory before

The catafalque, smoke drifts

From the swung censer

 

In dusk’s slanting light 

The sexton swings the last

Of the small bells to summon

All souls wandering abroad

 

In the half-dark of side altar

Priest waves his wand of holy

Water: The world subsides

My dreams are born 

                          As the light dies

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June 22, 2015 

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