Before Manila Took A Breath

Before Manila Took A Breath

The city lay quietly sweating
Like a child who keeps
absolutely still
as if a quiver
would unravel the last thread
of cold from the night.

Her hairs feather wetly
onto a bony forehead,
like leaves clutching
onto building-tops, frightened
of the warm gasps of air
fogging the city--
Its glass windows,
polished doorknobs, glaring streetlamps.

Nothing moves but the small
drops of rain,
colliding like petals
smashed softly with a gavel,
scouring the city for
a pulse.

They find none,
coating the buildings in rust,
and when the moon drains
into space,
the sun makes everything bright.
Sparkling bronze,
like a trophy glittering
in the garage
between the chicken wire
and the softly rotting plywood.