I would love to dowse for you

in this city where there is an absence of taxis and street signs that speak of a single direction. With the way the main road exceeds our concept of ends, a man sleeps, feeling oddly at home in a passenger jeepney. In this city where there is no sky undivided by veining electric wires, it can sometimes feel like a ghost town, thrown back unto its own body. Resuscitated. Breathing heavy. Heaving smoke upward. Cold wind condensing on the palm of a child. The weight of coins anchoring his dreams to reality. A dry leaf falling towards a puddle of grease. In this city hanging on the margins of Manila, named after pineapples, boasting “clean and green”, empty lots but no gardens, I would love to miss you, standing so plainly, darkening almost, beneath a lamppost that flickered when I passed.

for Jamie