more lightHow forgetful I am, to only think of winter in shades of dark, cold, and the occasional dreary dead.Dec 26, 20222Dec 26, 20222
idle landIt troubles me how little I understand of the way memory works: the back and forth, the pacing. The waiting rooms.May 8, 20221May 8, 20221
poetics of timeInfinitely small increments of time add up into miracles. Not a slow drip of singular seconds but maybe rain.Jan 25, 20221Jan 25, 20221
pour grief into anything and it will hold its shapeGrief is an endless summer night with air too heavy to sleep or breathe. The window is open but no air will come through.Jun 9, 20212Jun 9, 20212
et j’aimerai le bruit du vent dans le blé…Before I met you I was busy building my own mythology.Dec 27, 2020Dec 27, 2020
