Two Figures

The eye does not have to open its watery vision in the poem which is its own field

The air snatches the distance between the seen and the equally seen

So they may come face to face, they who for the longest time need to speak

They of course sit without eyes although the field is awake, at the tip of its grass

Let them utter, let their words rise up and reveal their glinting periscopes

In the field which is a marshland, where grass undulates, nervous with the light

The two of them crawl from their chairs which sink their wood into the soft earth

They seek out the light of each other which is the eye they left in the womb of the afterlife

The eye blinks the blur of what is considered as the eternal, identifying element

But how about them, the two on their knees, searching for a hard notion of glass

Aren’t they eternal and identifiable too? Look how they poke the clay with their fingers

They know what they are doing, they are afflicted with something more than hope

**

Author of the poetry collection Marginal Bliss (UP Press, 2002), Carlomar Arcangel Daoana is based in Manila Philippines, writing a weekly column on art and design for the major daily, Manila Bulletin. Online, his work has appeared in Oysterboy Review, Our Own Voice and Spine. He is currently working on his second collection of poems, The Fashionista's Book of Enlightenment.

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