You are my trampoline When I fall you push me back up You are the flower that is permanently rooted in my life You are the jar that contains every drop of my sorrow The mind that knows all...

the sun promises to keep rising; tomorrow is not promised, but still every morning you wake is a new day.   no matter how hopeless we feel at this moment,  the night sky, inky black, moon...

a strand of silk roots into her  head—the kind of silver that spells  antiquity at its uttermost  phase: apparently a sign of growing old.  she, a woman born from song &  sweat...

my halabeoji takes a sip of cognac / it is late december / and dusk dawns young / so we gather as he tells his lifestory / to a room of generations / a breathing memory of centuries / of dusty dreams /...

 it is only when you start to bleed  that she   rushes     towards      your  coiling body; collapses       to bare  knee         —bare  earth—     as if    in...