At Katibawasan

It is not true
that all things
are born
in warmth.

A strong stem
of white water
plunges into
a corner of
the emerald pool.

My arms are
outstretched
pale greeen
beneath
the water.

Swallows crush
their wings
against
the water's surface.

And I am in the
grip
of some
nameless ecstasy,
emerging from
water
cold
as ice.

poem by Justine Camacho Tajonera
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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