Wind Words

By Marne Kilates

There are two places I know
Where the wind speaks to me.

The first is at the national high school
For the arts at Los Banos.

It rises from the lake and mixes
With the solfeggios and finger exercises

Of the late classes of music or ballet
After the sun had set. The darkness

And everything around conspire
To create in me a distinct memory.

A privilege because I had just finished
My own classes for translation

In creative writing. Then the shuttle
Arrives to take us back to Manila,

Where the wind grates or is lost
Among walls of concrete.

The second is the wind coursing
Through the winding roads

Of Masungi Georeserve.
In the fastness of Baras, southeast of Manila,

The mountains have a lot to tell us:
How they can shield us from our worries,

How they can hold back the source
Of our fears from outside of ourselves—

Such as rampaging floods
And the greed that shears off the trees

And leaves these highlands bald,
Defenseless rainwater bins of the Sierra Madre.

O Limestone Caves and Pillars,
Save us as we protect you.

O Sylvan Retreat: Speak to us always,
Enfold us in your grace.