Synchronistically, in today’s walk I came across flame trees to remind of what we had to cut down yesterday in the back yard. I’ve written poems on flame trees—the first time I recall seeing them were by some beach or shoreline while visiting Silliman University. I believe I was with Krip Yuson, Susan Lara and Jimmy Abad, among others. A jeepney excursion after a writers’ workshop… But am I remembering this correctly? The flame trees, even if I made them up (hah) were the only clear take-away from that experience… that solidified only because I entered them in poems. I should enter everything I want to remember in poems, even if the memories are fake. Poems make falsities real.
Focusing
Certain revelations require
fire for
erasing
small matters for
more important
revelations:
I'm reminded "poems
make falsities
real."
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