She stands grand against the vast blue,
Against varied hues of twilight spheroid flame.
To me she is Papa or Grandma I left behind for ages. . .
Or my childhood lover's misty visage. . .
Or the shadow of a long-skirted Muslim waif.
Dreams fly me to a communion with her,
Where for a moment I find me tread
That Cotabato coast.
Milbuk is one slice of my heart.