Memory with Water

For now let's talk about sinking
cities, said my mother
who carries a pair of Neptunes
in her eyes & paints about phantoms
 
in Philippine poetry. Gravity is when
the psychiatrist assessed you
& located a heart that is heavy
for no reason. In an instant, you were
 
in the sea: a merman sticking his head
above the surface, swathed in salt
water, standing by for austere arms,
like a remembrance possessed by echoes
 
of phantoms playing on a record player.
Almost always, there are greetings—
at sunrise, say hello to clouds, to roosters,
to the maps of music you made in your mind.
 
& when the morning arrived as a Roman
god of waters & seas, you finally crawled on land.