On turning a Wrist

San Juan, La Union PH

if you have to go,
help me not to remember.
leave
with the memory of your face.
de-occupy my thoughts
and let this forsaken soul be in the ruins of his temple.

be formless,
like water.
gather your silhouette and pour it into the sea.
bottle your scent
and dump it among the most foul-smelling garbage.
and if a shower or two won’t do it,
then I’ll bathe in the rain.

never utter your name; remain a stranger.

we are still here,
my beloved,
where hope is only a name
for every here that is far from our homes,
which we refuse to mention,
where I dream of your return.