keep going

The fishing boats yawn against the tide,
silver scales flicking off the bay's blue skin.
Children chase the wind down coconut rows,
while salt and smoke braid in the air -
a hymn the sea hums to our quiet roofs.

Grandmothers mend nets with patient hands,
each knot a prayer for safe returns.
Dogs sleep in patches of borrowed sun,
dreaming of fish heads and fallen fruit.

And when the light spills gold on Leyte Gulf,
we gather the morning in woven bowls -
warm rice, fried tuloy, stories still half-asleep.
The day begins not with a shout,
but with the tide, breathing us awake.