ON A BOAT TO PUERTO GALERA
(for Jun, Rommel and Donald)
the ship of fools
ferries us across the strait
that separates luzon
from the yearned for
shores of mindoro.
leaving our city lives
behind, we stand on deck
straining our eyes
against the glare of light
frolicking on water.
we sigh, imagining
the sand of white beach
crunching beneath
our feet, the sun bronzing
the skin of our backs.
passing by the islands
of verde and maricaban
we shiver, thinking
of the warm sea embracing
our bodies like a lover.
heaving with the heavy
cargo of our foolish
fantasies, we disembark thus
in puerto galera
way ahead of schedule,
long before our rusty galleon
has reached the safety of harbor.
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