if time were to take a pause, i’d like it at five thirty

doesn’t matter whether AM or PM

time can freeze just after the hen chuckles

and Indang from next door sprinkles the daisies

or while a schoolboy waits for the jeepney ride home

fingers loosely twined with his beloved’s

five thirty is as delectable at the first yawn

and as fragrant at the last sigh before night

if an hour should linger, let it be at five thirty

i like to be still in its abiding secret.

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