Dearest Federico
       

Inside of a room, sits a box.
Inside the box, rests a seed.
Inside the seed, balls a planet.
Inside the planet, lifts a baby.
Inside the baby, an egg of thoughts.
Inside those thoughts, gallops a heart.
Inside the heart, a murmur of poems.
Inside those poems, the wet roof of the soul.
Inside the soul, a canyon.
Inside the canyon, a death.
Inside of death, a river.
Inside the river, a voice.
Inside the voice, a moment.
Inside the moment, a boat of relics.
Inside those relics, an explosion of seconds.
Inside of seconds, the sway of paracletes.
Inside of paraclates, the anthem of man.
Inside of man, a red vessel flexing in the dark,
Inside the dark, the little thunders of white,
Inside of white, the bleeding Igorot,
Inside the Igorot, a shelter.
Inside the shelter, a box of suffixes,
Inside of suffixes, the sea's constant applause.
Inside the applause, a hiccupping pope.
Inside the pope, a pulse, a pulse.
Inside the pulse, a biophony of mutter,
Inside of mutter, the shaping of gravity.
Inside of gravity, the birth of stone.
Inside a stone, the falling.

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Copyright © 2018 Sam Roxas-Chua All rights reserved
from Saying Your Name Three Times Underwater
Lithic Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission