After a photograph by Mario Miclat

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Einstein’s relativity says time is slower on the lowland

Than on a mountain, but it seems to have stopped

On this stretch of beach in Lingayen. We do not need

To climb the nearby peaks of San Isidro or Mangatarem

To prove the point, and we don’t have time or strength

To squander climbing―it might even have ran out

On us as it has ceased to move, we might as well regain it

In the roar of surf and as the breakers turn to spindrift

Before reaching the shore. Which is why this photograph

Stirs or calms us: the fine brown sand eternal in the hour

Of the hourglass, reminding us of Dali’s pigments 

Without the deliquescent clocks. Ah, these intimations

Amuse or distract us, embellish our idle gaze tracing

This tiny tail from the Agno delta as it finally merges

With the Gulf, imitating our drifting, flimsy thoughts

Like so much foam. Oh, yes, we fancy the waves speaking

To us of time’s waves in this little stretch of the cosmos,

Or the salt beds in Dasol, where our souls are enamored with

Crystals in white mounds. Or as we seek the sea once more, 

We chase our heartbeat and memory ephemeral as the brine

Sifting in the sandbars, sizzling in a quick granular death.

 

 

Marne Kilates

16 October 2021

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