The words are what happen

when I’m sliced across the middle

and sand falls out of my body.

The grains swirl and bound

and disperse,

until they settle on the ground,

gentling moving with the wind.

Until then, they jump like memories

that pull apart and come back together–

quick!– before they disintegrate in your hands

like sand.

But to write

is to wring out all the words inside you.

They belong on the ground by the sea.

And if you look up, you realize,

you have hollowed out and made room for the stars.

-World Poetry Day 2018