RIC S. BASTASA


Sagada tryst


The roads
move around the side
of high mountains

fog hover like an ocean
upon the valleys

at night the cold
seeps inside the skin
and bones


the pine trees are tall
and the rocks dress with moss

we gather around a campfire
of dried pine wood

we sit upon smooth stones
we share the sanctity of silence

this is the place
which time wants to take back

Submitted: Saturday, May 11, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 17, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

written in sagada, mountain province (6 hours from baguio city)

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