Of what lives, on the ridgepole
at the edge of our nipa roof,
I did not know.

Someone told me: “Don’t look,
and there be none.
A-second peek. And there you see
A link chain.
Silver-plated, bracelet-long.

Look away. And it be gone.
Never stare for too long.

For your Head be turned to stone,
and to your Feet,
From your Eyes.
Until what brown of you remains
Be turned to Statue gray.”

And I, heard
a bit too late–