Science insists where salt goes

water follows, which accounts

for the distended body of

the beached whale found along

the coast of Camarines Sur.

When they split its carcass open,

a gush of plastic cups and salt

poured out. The townsfolk, thinking

it was of extraterrestrial origin,

mistook the beast for a fallen god.

They began to weep and wail.

Some offered flowers around it.

Left to rot in the sun for too long,

it gave off a strange smell that reached

the farthest end of the island.
The Igohang tribe of Ifugao

keeps their dead inside a nipa hut

by swathing them in blankets.

Bodies remarkably intact bonewise,

squat legs bowed, as when they found

Bayangan Limangya on a chair,

rigor mortis already setting in.

In November, when it gets cold,

they take out the desiccated bones

to warm in the sun, or let children

acquaint themselves with their elders.

Some say that Apo Anno,

revered mummy of Benguet

and thought to be son of a goddess,

had to drink Sabut Bit Sea

to preserve his body.
We watch this on the Internet.

Already, I feel you drifting away

as we fall by the wayside of love.

Your eyes scoping out the screen

to disinter clues to the occult.

Science has no answer for this yet.

We are still years and years behind.
I only believe this to be true:

You are salt and I am water

in this great sea surrendering.

Wherever you go, I follow.