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TWO POEMS

overview effect

for E. 

Our feet have touched the soil of the moon, and what grandeur!

Like rational angels, our toes anoint

the madness of impossibility with our self-assuredness, 

claiming even lifelessness as our own. 

Terrible crushing vacuum that is everywhere all around us, always:

Ours. 

 

We gobble up this Universal Maw, canopy of emptiness

encrusted with elsewhere lights wrestled into serving our manifest destinies

our godhood. 

And yet we only need turn. 

We only need look back through impossible stone windows, 

withstanding the bearing down of the insatiable hunger

of Nothingness, and see: 

not the Maw, 

nor what godhood, 

but the

Miracle of Us: 

floating against a curtain of unknowns

slowly unfurling by sifting through 

what we know of each other, making music or poetry or love; 

seeing the streets of home dwindle through a fogged up 

plane window, tracing heart over breath; 

seeing the same streets some years later, applause ringing through the cabin; 

retracing memories with each turn of a photo album, 

the shapes our fingers make on our backs, 

our histories. 

It is the miracle of gazing unfocused through our bedroom window, 

warm light landing on my face, 

lying there, until turning to look at your face, 

a miracle, pleasant Sunday light a gauze, 

your face a planet full of life. 

Mirror of Chitin (May 31)

A trail of ants marks the boundary of my crossing

and one of them regards me with its feelers, 

to which I respond by regarding it with mine: 

Do you move in faster time

see me, an unmoving titan, 

a sudden eclipsing of your day-to-day, 

this week's groceries held in your jaw, 

jostling against your enterprising neighbors

thinking this cool shade is just what the doctor ordered

and I can't wait to shed this skin, hang it on our coat rack 

and tell honey I'm home; 

Do you hear our breathing 

made ragged by what he said is a moderate trail, 

slight pulses on your tiny feet

or is it more like

primordial rumblings of deep-seated promises like 

the ones he made in December (it's November now)

felt through accretions of millennia of dust and of stuff 

baggage of bygone eras made compact by 

trudgings of a thousand thousand feet-- 

like valentine's day cards getting buried 

forgotten in desk drawers older than us; 

Do you share my marvel 

at the redness of these looming whorls of rock 

painted by an unmoving titan of my own, 

or at their stillness even as they rise and crash

like Moses' wall of sea water 

cloven by some god's power; 

Do you think 

these stones move like waves

for one who regards me as I regard you 

moving quicksilver against these abiding rocks; 

Do you share my fear

as we traverse these stones

spidering terrain with our delicate limbs

that a wicked god would sunder its hold on these crags

altering eternity in no time at all 

alchemizing their material state

boulder to froth 

breaking apart solidity like 

a baker cracking an egg

and us whipped up like sauce?

Kevin is a queer Filipinx immigrant writing in Las Vegas. He teaches at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, where he graduated with an MA in English Literature.