2017 masl (Poetry)

POEM

Moss and lichen I dare not touch

They who will outlast me. Death

upon the mountain, I dare not wish

Although fungi and fern rise from

ash and coal. Fire-loving kingdom,

the true pioneers

Pygmy trees, ancient and gnarled

Stunted crowns, dwarfed by the sky

A silken shroud of diffused daylight

make its way to fronds and foliage,

pitcher plants. Carpet of leaf mold

soaked in constant rain and dew

—endless fungal action

The hinterland gods are weeping

into creeks, tributaries, paddies

Sipada exhales a misty breath

Ridge and cloud know no boundaries

Even boulders in the rivers

once sealed the mouths of giants

Tossed in fury, or swept by floods

I, a momentary crunch on the forest

floor, only seeing with eyes. Unworthy

of measurement—a dull statistic

Turquoise flycatchers announce

the coming and going of

lesser species that know destruction

and creation to be one and the same.

Mt. Madja-as is often shrouded in fog but its beauty is undeniable.

The hike starts with an initial shock of knee-jarring assault in the open, also known as the Tinangisan Trail. Then it’s all forest from there, mystical, ancient, alive with birdsong and insect chatter. The Bantang River campsite, your only refuge, requires a steep descent, but rewards you with cool, healing waters and a clearing to view the night sky. Our bid to the summit started in darkness, and it was mostly direct assault, lots of scrambling, and traversing deep ravines. These will lead you to the mossy forest, the bonsai (crown shyness) forest, and cloud-covered, densely vegetated ridges — here it’s unmistakable you’ve entered the domain of the gods.

We narrowly missed a clearing in the summit, but found ourselves on an island in the sky. It was priceless.