I

We do not know the sea. No matter

That we limbered up our sea legs

Clambering over and onto the prow

Of the falua,as the surf tested us 

And the boat dipped and bobbed

Before we could settle for the hour’s 

Journey to the next island of Sabtang.

 

We settled on the weathered planks

That served as our seats, made as if 

At ease among coiled rope, tin cans

Of fuel and water, the sundry cargo

We could never be familiar with,

Of the boat that plies these waters where

The Pacific and the China Sea meet.

 

And our eyes were pleased. The weather-

Beaten boat was colored, perhaps

A Mediterranean blue, and the sea, 

To our mild surprise, was sparing 

Of its spray, and though darker

Even in the nine o’clock sun, tolerated us.

We thought we were sailing on a lake.

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