For Nasudi Anchin
I can only watch the dream from here,
In this new land of our longing.
You are now a three-year old
Ageless angel and you word your way
To the best days ahead: a Disney
In December, a clay cherubim,
A ceramic doll calling out, "Anchin!"
Ah, such clarity, such gentle grace,
Darling dear. Your tiny hands trace
The creases of our fading faces
In bored, blurred lines,
Retracing in infant's imaginings
This unwanted absence. Your dancing lines
Delight in the moving of August
To some other magical moments.
I hear you sing to yourself
That birthday tune, a tender tale
Of counterpoints to this
Endless exile we are heir to.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili